Friday, June 16, 2006


one morning in early june
i returned to the forest of my youth
and laid down inside those woods
with no intention of getting up.

the moon like the sun
were still in the sky
as if for the first time
they had ever met, while

inside those places
between my breath
the whole world sighed within me.

the rustle of a squirrel celebrates a win
a centipede’s legs chatter in mandarin
the wind never blows
through branches of trees
but whispers conversation
with needles and leaves.

and when i think of all these things i'm made of,

a pond puts on lipstick in the rearview,
tendrils of light move through skin,
fields foam at the mouth with flowers,
a mountainside defines the place you're in,

and because this is what makes
my body's subtle history,

my eyes can backstretch
to childhood warmth
behold a gust of life
run through that place
that resides just below my clavicle.

i can see the dew tamped paths I have traveled
the overgrown love that i've never met
i can brush back desire within such silence
simply in order to meet her again.

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