late blossom in the loquat tree --
I reach for the autumn sky

~~~~~
lightning strikes --
a clear path before the rolling thunder
tears for you:
petals from our ink-heart tree . . .
~~~~~

no need to shelter your ears from the howls
quivering beneath the surface syllables --
I don't hold the language right
on this crystal tongue

I shall be
small --
a particle of dust

carried

colliding

collecting

in a tiny sandstorm
with other particles of dust
individually laced
through the eye of Eve's Needle
Cactus, sharp, squinting
against the light

a dash

on a waxed dune

a nuance

-- infinitely small

WHAT IF IT NEVER GETS EASIER?

HOW MANY CUTS DOES IT TAKE TO CONVINCE YOU SOMETHING HURTS INSIDE?

HOW DEEP SHOULD THE BLADES SLICE BEFORE YOU SEE IT?

HOW MUCH BLOOD UNTIL I'VE DRAINED IT FROM MY SYSTEM?

traveling day to day wondering who i might be.
i try a lot of different things, things i might want to be.
its hard to choose from all those things from all around the place,
in the end i might just end up wasting precious space.