Tuesday, June 11, 2013
The trees sway, the golden limbs moaning in the wind as they
rub, most residue lingering from early dew slithering down each crack and drip
off each leaf to leave traces as they caress my face, leaving the scent of late
night and the humid breath I breathe in as I move between the trunks, my limbs
mingled with their limbs, bit of leaves crumbled in my brown, and their taste
still rich on my lips.
I want to take it all in until I burst with the gush and
drip with the dew. I am the morning bleeding into the day with my arms and legs
spread wide, embracing and being embraced, pulled in, drawn out, losing myself
as I am consumed.
I finger the knobs on the tree as I wait, knows chest level
just above where the limbs part, the scent of the sea rolling over me as I
breathe, though it is the glitter of the bay I see exposed and vibrant, ripples
from the wind’s rough touch stirring up a froth. Egrets with their long,
slender, white necks strut stiffly along the short, rude and erect against the
shimmering black mud at their feet, the slat brine bubbling as it surges and
expires.
I feel the ach in the wood I touch, wishing I could be so
bold as the egrets, walking so expose in such a public space, to float in the
bubbles of brine, and to feel the soft kiss of the wind stirring me up,
inspiring me to greater glory
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