Tresses anchor raven shadows
the season waltzes like a wildfire
the line, lyric and musty
rouses a harsh thrill
We lay our hands on wood
crudely leaving our mark there
Bark is our skin and our
fecund flesh is ripe
The sap on your tongue is
grainy, bitter, deadly adhesive
You are dilapidated like me
living on rice and greens like me
Each red leaf in the runoff
is rusty like me
pulling its weight like me
chlorophyll born and dying like me
For three days we arranged
slumbering smooth dominoes
and their graceful clattering was
most natural
14 October 2009
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