Sweet scent, my gravity
Carries me
Wandering
Through winding trees
Fallen leaves hiss at me
An omen, indistinct
Upon the clearing
My meadow stands empty, save for
A maple. Its sap,
Rust and wine,
A fountain of false prophets
From which I feast
Into scorched earth, I cough up teeth
Scarlet blood boiling
Back up at me

This fragile heart
sometimes bursts into
the tiniest shards
                  of infinity
clear as crystal light
yet empty
as an ocean, waterless
longing
to be filled and filled
over and over
as I would fill you
to the brim
overflowing with
enough life
and love to heal
a thousand
                aching moons

Evening docks
like a desolate ship,
indigo and monolithic,

its umbral sails
swelling above
the distant hips of
a titanic continent.

Sleep tastes like a mossy anchor;
it lurches, shifts, and slips into gear—
the sound of stars grinding on stars.

I sail across an ocean of teeth.

I acquiesce. I drown

in the velvet
whirlpool of
your absence.