Vestige

Forest vines -

earthly roots clasp 

together like hands.

Thick brown knots -

wooden barnacles

encrusted with pale lichen.

Branches tied together,

a collage of frozen umber

cloaks pasty skin.

Eyes reflect

the sun's gleaming rays -

chiseled emeralds within.

Those vines so tight -

long cappuccino stains 

poured over arms and legs.

Rain envelops her body,

a violent tirade of grey.

Leaves stick 

like glued paper -

her only time alone.

Esophagus packed with moss,

she is becoming 

plant. 

 

End of the Day

Looking at the burning drifts of a sunset, 

mauve on gold, 

dripping from charcoal clouds, 

and this sensation I can't quite place, 

this feeling of wanting to chase that sunset...

endlessly; 

this feeling of loneliness

and liberation 

mingling within my mind.

Tundra

The earth's balding surface,

studded with burnt match tips,

wavers like a ball of mercury in the heat.

Luminescent waves crash

on green shores

of crackling chaparral.

Animals cringe against heat,

fur explodes in flames

like firecracker wicks.

Eyes loll;

cracked marbles

in reddened sockets.

After the firestorm,

the ground is littered

with bodies 

now reduced to black piles,

sooted skin peeling from

ivory faces;

eye sockets wet

with softened marbles. 

Grandma's Basement

I ask,

“Will you take me down there,

where the big spiders are?”

The door creaks open

and the darkness creeps out

like long, boney knuckled fingers.

I’m brave,

I think.

I do make it to the bottom of the steps

where a bare bulb casts angular shadows

across ruddy stone walls.

And then I’m running

back up into the daylight

because there are spiders,

and they are big.