Unpicking myself from 
cotton-joy days, 
I had expected a 
puncture, 


a soft deflation, 
relaxation of form 
to a thin reed of air 
that may ventriloquize, beautifully, 
an existence tapering 
into something 
tragic. 


A paradox of Sisyphus, reality, 
it left my sketch in 
tatters. I saw myself, driving 
myself like a sherpa, toiling 
down truncated 
mountain-stairs; skirted 
claws of scoring briars 
I had grown from a seed in my mind. 
Descent was all mine, wholly blind. 


I think I’d to be a balloon, 
even without the sights at the top - 
I could exhale 
and be grounded.

a tree dissevered                                                a tree
dissevered a tree                                                in a clearing

a deified root                                                     roots worm
deified worms                                                    worms root

translucent in green water                                    clear in green water

a tree                                                                a tree dissevered
painted                                                              the reflection of                    
its own reflection                                                the landscape of woods
 
red leaves                                                          blood roots under water
a final longing                                                     will change us 

for a tree                                                            for a tree
 

​Mist falls over the garden tonight
It’s wispy tendrils of memory clouding my mind
With hushed hide-and-seek whispers
Tiny toes in tiny sandals
Blown dandelion seeds
The warmth of the windows after sun
Perhaps my future had made me forget my past.