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. parallel of an oak 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. |