by James Diaz
If who were in this? And not a near by thing
in all roots tortured by the incremental seriousness
foot fall in past
teething even the memory
or dream we don’t dream anymore
all of our envy put into the good parts of the soil
into the well tested earth
water none I leave and can love by rain
incapable of much more, heavy lifting
screaming, the rivers aren't flowing
naturally anymore
who has what I have- seen or not
the low lovable fruit smell
sun in more ways than one can count-
adding precious tokens to our blindness
I don’t understand
and fitted into earth, root, sit with good intentions
tidal wave crayon drawing
for sunflower or canyon, burning
frost of you, north of you,
where anyone belongs
but won’t go there alone.
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