that was a powerful potion you brewed
i nightly endured fevered dreams of you
cobwebs cleared up
and the dust in my cup turned to juice
you hung from the ceiling
tied up in knots of hair and tree roots
leaves cascading down around you,
the room grew lighter
the ceiling turned blue
and you were a tree freshly planted anew
and i, picking fruit from your
branches to chew,
knew the bounties of spring's
yearly blooming renewal
what fine internal rhyme you invoke
ReplyDeleteI smile every time I read this. (I do sometimes read it often...) I just want to listen to you sing your poems. but I like how this is so earthy. there's dust and fruit and tree roots and I like to imagine a cowboy in el paso recountin' it all.
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