Part of the shape you hold
hidden deep in pine grain

split open by an axe of light
reveals intricate textures

a secret color
whispering to dawn
choose me.

Stealing into woods
an exiled poem
unable to write

a stealthy dynamite light speaks
without words

there is depth unsung

a bruised peach leaked to faraway sunsets
if buckets or ropes could reach
a silent explosion

how this small mouth
downpoured secret rain.


**

Ripe enough to remember
pearls hidden in clover

nameless as the feeling
when someone you love
swallows suicide

only to come back to tell you
how to cultivate explosions of frequency
planted deep in rich patterns.

"All you have to do is let light axe you wide open and surrender to gravity."