• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 04
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coming up for air tastes different this way

the ash of autumn sticking to a throat
clogged with auburning leaves, with
pinecones and pinneedles / wondering
if this is the last scrap of orange before
the white / wondering if this is the last
of the oxygen before the tank runs

the annual drip feed / we line our
lungs with artificial sunlight / the
smell of rotting leaves / the ocean,
sea-salt slick easing the sting / we
crave that which hurts us most,
that which burns going down / too
many flowers grow their thorns

i grow from my roots down /
planted firmly in the earth, feet
shoulder width apart / i practice
tree pose / wondering if i fix
my balance / wondering if i fix
my posture / will it be enough
for the soil to claim me as its