up and up and.

i found you on the riverbanks breathing red sand like justice
and when the waters sighed, your hair curled against my skin
and held me there with flower stems.
the latitude of leaves and multiplication surges
depends upon the ability to release the follicles from their
waxy prison. behind the source there burns the sun,
behind the sun there is an efflorescence
an opening, an outstretched network of spiderweb furrows,
the silhouette of truth.
imagine-
truth in the sway of your laughs underneath the shade
these sweet brief rains, tints of shedding and peculiarly crooked change
they fall upon me like the draping of autumn.
and September sings in
saffron ceramic.
I'll make that beloved 5 minute walk,
7 if I linger just right at the muddy roots
imagining you as though you
were truly real and not just some figment of
foreign imagination,
floating on the puddles, purely peppermint-ginger memories
where the souls of our soles are stamped into the wet dirt
like the ash in the lungs of Santa Ana summer in the West.
deep violet stranger;
the companionship of cardinals-
not simply outside the panes but in the trees of reach.
I'm imagining the red that runs like sweet mountain thyme
beneath the paper thin crown of skin
of delicate wrist.
you are, it is,
piercing.
space scalped and then hung up like hot compress towels to
air out,
dehydrate,
rest.
and yes,
I remember the star-winds
I can practically feel the brisk pull of the arteries
the moon-call of the tar-gravel rocks upon the sticky roof tiles of the treehouse,
the bottom of the mug my relief.

unwound,
founded on nothing more than the rush of electric blood and thunder
as my bones greet the season with
new reason to
unfold.
étranger douce , vous remplissez mon cœur.