Sleeping in Winter

Where I came from: outlined
in flames, beautiful
orange-steel cooled in
mother's milk. Open-mouthed
and trusting, circles
of motion and color.

Who I am presently: now
white-chaos, blind, restless,
lived in; traveling
in terror. Making stories
so quickly like wounds
in a car collision.

What I will be: black-rotted,
wood-flesh, collapsed, condensed,
unreal. Earth, hair, bones, nails.
Soil soaked memories. Tree roots
sleeping in winter.

1 comment:

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

I like the way the final image creates peace after all.