i don't plant things
to forget
if the ground had a heartbeat
it would remember
sometime earlier
when earthquakes hadn’t cut empires
into caverns of dust
there were oak trees raining acorns
and dragons resting
on salty earth.
Nothing could be trusted
so it trusted itself
to grow far under and in between
none of them are left as far as i can tell
and I won’t be looking for them either
why would i
dust can’t be planted and i have dreams of rich soil
a bundle of kittens
mysterious goats
puppies being born.
a window open
the roots don’t rot
say prayers under floorboards
and light slanted through sun speckled trees.
I see the light on them
wild untamed
and across the table
steaming tea for a viking returning
after years at sea.




Breath-taking
Really starting to be the mistress of the strong last lines/ends to poems