I curl myself in a box, pinstriped
Odd bits of old confetti
toes crushed against folded photographs, the first ballerina shoe
Shiny pebbles, a movie script and chocolate wrappers
Christmas bells and torn pages of a diary.
I close my eyes to make a
time capsule, to be buried for years till
Present thoughts become a confused smile, a memory.
I bury me under the Rowan tree, covered by berries and speckled red flowers
The earth growing warmer, I hear
muffled laughs of lovers or maybe little children dappled by sun and shade
I sleep.
Seasons change, the rain mixed with songs of the wind seeps through
I wish to turn, restless in my sleep
I dream of thunderstorms, barbed wires of electricity in the sky
My bones ache for green fields, damp green fields
I wish to turn
Within the closed space of the eye
I see the rain dripping through my twisted fingers
Dissolving me to absolution.
Doused by a thousand tears of a dead god.
I feel not the weight of the berries, the red petals, troubled dreams.
Seasons change, the summer awakens me
Blind, blind fury of a midday sun
I rise, I merge, lost to the elements
Fevered by the heat, I turn
into a rain cloud
I fall
I turn
parched lands into fields of green
My blood in the earth
Fertile.
