Flower
after flower is specked on the depths of green.
The petals are
harlequins. Stalks rise from the black hollows
beneath. The flowers swim like fish
made of light upon the dark, green waters. I hold a stalk in my hand. I am the stalk. My roots go down to the depths of the world,
through earth dry with brick, and damp earth, through veins of lead and
silver. I am all fibre. All tremors shake me, and the weight of the
earth is pressed to my
ribs. Up here my eyes are green leaves, unseeing.
The Waves (6)
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