A forest floor self portrait
I retreat in primordial wet
and slide out with the sun
Of makings and markings and moments of mercy
how preoccupation is no relative of preparation
And only loyal to false premonition
A sharp inhale of acknowledgement
an eye twitch, curious ears
and a generosity of spirit
I walked on air
a quaver wavelet
a trial of rapture
But after yesterday’s wind trance
here it comes again
the approaching tempest on my face
Sweltering eyes looking for a war of approval
locked in the weight
cloning till connection
