My Rebel Grain

This rebel grain pirouettes, flaunting
her amber to tacit, curtseying stalks.
Breeze-brushed, lofted, my rye softly dreams
to me of mountain clouds and thunder streams-
sashaying tender wounds
onto a hesitant, breathless chest, dabs
of dermal turquoise rising with each
sea-bottom blue-beating. I was hidden on th'other
side of this white plane, watching whiteness
swallow softly, caressing,
my golden grain in sunset. Engulfed,
enlivened, I am salt-tainted clarity
and begin my barraging of the coast,
the shoreline, our borders, spitting and pressing,
confident and slow. Through captivity
I'm freed; subject to amber, my core waves,
bursting, bowing, rebelling. Wind
behind also me, clay gives way
to crimson; then to you I flood, rhythmic and crazed,
ravished from within, from my very bay.

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