Friday, March 22, 2013


o take me death-leaf
take and press me
with your thumbs of smoke
into the earth
that I may lay with an open head
and become the hillside;
indistinguishable as dirt,
as black clouds
that pass the moon
at midnight

but the birds are singing!
it is spring!

I've died this time,
relinquished my breath
with the equal night
and only with spring
was born all over

o that
deaths head hawk moth
that came and tongued the anthers
when my mind became
the comet flower

whispered something as it flew

something only heard
by the gone beyond

I know
I have not gone