• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 12
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Becoming Botanical

I have dispensed with
tearable skin,
breakable bones
and leaky blood.

Now I shower in cloudbursts
and sleep in shifting soil
amongst the bright eyes
of tiny stones.

My veins flow with rainwater,
and my rivered limbs meander
through boulderless channels.
Soft-quilled tendrils reach for life
from rippled rings
and sway for the bloom of each day.

I slip on the dropped petals of buttercups,
golden belts of bending corn
and sun-striped sweaters,
and, glow-softened,
bask in a comfortable slump,
becoming something other.


Becoming Botanical

The trees are reassuring grandfathers
whose fingers entwine beneath me.
They remind me that
my walls are birdsong
and my roof is not there,
that I have sprung from
and am part of the earth.

My new growth is dewy
and malleable,

only sky fills the spaces.