I wish to grow dumber,
to slip deep into woods that grow blinder
with each step I take,
until the fingers let go of their numbers
and the hands are finally ignorant as paws.
Unable to count the petals,
I will not know who loves me,
who loves me not.
Nothing to remember,
nothing to forgive,
I will stumble into the juice of the berry, the shag of bark,
I will be dense and happy as fur.
All rights reserved. Posted by kind permission of the poet.
Rains come, pounding rooftops, saturating every inch of soil down to the deep. Water creeps…
When I returned Noe to the earth and she sent her staccato of sweetness up…
A normal day! Holding it in my hand this one last moment, I have come…
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