We rise like wildflowers in the dimming light
Ghosts hermit into
a body. In our oneness we are
figs barrelling down a slope
of the universe feed hungers of a hemisphere
a mollusc of song animal putting
morsel in the mouth of animal star light
reflecting over nebulae our bodies emboss
a lacquerwork coat gleaming in proximity.
We graze oceans in reverberations of body
into body like animals navigate
a changing forest unscarred. Ghosts of quiet
paddle diorama over a diurnal background
acclimate as pilgrims defy coulisses
flung into turquoise orbs ocean sky.
Ghosts solvent to commingle mist fog
in the placenta of earth a uvular parabola
an uncommon faith we build a home with
splintered wood blossoms our bodies.
I recount a story I once dreamed as a child
[there was a river with many stones thrown into it
we called it a river of stones we touched
the rain sew water into land into a river]
without knowing a form of illumination
the smell of oil lamps thyme red lobelia.
Sycamores with falling stars over their heads
leaves tremble with an entropy of connectedness
bone placed into body enfolding a symmetry
animal interwoven into animal transverse plasma.
Ghosts luminate balusters with saved sunlight
we kiss the pastures in our body
shadows lattice a compass-less orbit
into the thick of geographical marrow
when you bring small seasons in your palm
when I sing by the precipice
let us move into an orison of breaths a continuum
of unfolding fragments turning whole.about the author