my palm counters clockwise, looses shades of green from corners out open windows. we t(w)o pursue center. seeds and hulls and flower shaped systems spiral from the heart to the belly, pervade soil beyond the roots of trees, beyond bedrock. our fence is sway and faded. pressed by the rheumy quiet of transformation. wisteria has twined itself around posts. each night an opossum balances the pickets, toes twisted for grip, bobbing in and out of darkness. breath goes to all the places breath is supposed to go. i see silence, feel vacancy. in a meadow an amethyst sloughs it’s crust. follow grass Love, rustle blades, open each sheath, and spread to the becoming..
3 months ago