Milkweed and Wooden Leg, acrylic on canvas
Was this forest burden. To leave our body.
There is beauty being that were tender.
That were whispers intent. Then the living
twigs to hem arising shapes. We are dilute
veiled in sufficient fields pulsing. Moving
lights alongside formless hills. We were
created affluent. By that had hat and hand.
Could well have been her father’s trousers
were left balled behind us. We align limp
at each barren yield. Want exhaustion did.
Bloomed about the caul that were negated
by left felt the wrapped moon. Discarded
to our feel sought and then stumbled case.
About to go drunk on a cocoon of laughter
healing against us. We bend wept for joy.
There in our heart traced had grown to the
worm glow beyond is fresh. Borne wonder
worn apart in pursuit a tactile pleasure bin.
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