I lie half-awake in dried grass, cotton like my mouth / verdant with unspoken words
Naked legs propped uneasily and coated in the tepid honey
Of the sticky summer dew /
Spindles of white furry down settle deep in the crease of my knee /
He pants heavy, stirring syrup /
An uneven cadence that joins the air with no plea for admission /
A white beast built / able to exist only for the sake of existing /
He lounges with no hurry in early May /
In waves of grass that undulate like swelling tides and
crack open like fissures /
A chasm grips the soil / and pries it apart
Rooty hands tangling fingers in thick weeds
A bark / once / twice /
And still the stillness of the earth /
Belies the hollow gorge / But I lie still
In a heat too ripe, and
Unfeted by time and age / I split in two /
One hand atop the soft heat of his head /
The other lost to sky’s soft whispers /
Reaching for the unconfined mind /
And the unconditioned being.

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