I sit among death
trees whose branches are white
crumbling
hollow
I make my body hollow so something old can enter
I dream always of snakes
as some writhing mass
I am running away from
with words I don’t need to be always
trying to convince myself of something
I write what is
at the same time that I write myself into being
past, present, future are one
I choose the forked path
it is not an easy one
and my tongue still bleeds at night
wasps bless me always
paint yellow on my cheeks and eyelids
I am scared and it is beautiful
a cactus, I lose my spines
and grow new ones
at times everything seems a threat
but the world bends me into shape
into softness, into embrace
time braids me
folds my body into the wind
one strand over the other
one limb over the heart-lung
above all I ask
forgiveness and protection
spines grow inward, too, you know