What I didn’t know yet swallowed me, and I sat in the belly of that bliss, a toad hibernating under an old clay pot. That winter was a LazyBoy recliner of wait and see. It would launch me like a jewelweed seed – explosion of what I could be now. What I forgot was that life feeds on life, bloody carcass to forest to cicada song, we all take a turn. What I believed was that mercy is a red blanket, permeable and frayed along the edges, sometimes spread wide as the Platte, others torn deep as the Hudson. What I couldn’t figure out soared over the prairie of spent days like a hummingbird, a hawk, a heron. It followed the skittering shadows of every holy shit surprise, then nested under long, surrendered streaks of dusk. What I buried was a kernel of green in my heart, trusting it would rise and shine for those who truly saw me, emerald reflection of a galvanized lineage. What I uncovered was tha
Kinetic Poetry - Subject to change without warning.