iii. do I make a falling sound
The Decomposing Forest
In each seed, a common mystery.
When the news comes, it is news
from nowhere. An abandoned shopping cart
the woodland creatures mistake
for a spaceship’s skeleton.
Glistening silver-wire heartache.
The hunter who finds you will call you girl
in the wood, sleeping. He’ll feel for a pulse
all over your body. Terra incognito, thorny,
palatial interior in my subterranean chambers.
Truffles’ buried fruiting bodies sweeten,
whispering in their afar language, wake up
we’re dreaming. I will be your discovery
of emptiness. A bowl of turquoise
bezoar stones. Phosphenes when you rub
the sand from your eyes. The ruins,
in ruins wreathing you. Now you’re
dreaming their dream, inky & dramatic,
like antlers & blood. He slings you over
his shoulder. To talk clearly here is to take
a piece of the sky between
your teeth. Only a fool severs
down trees in search of forest.