2006, summer
a mountain grew out of the shapeless river
we drank the birds like madness
their feathers all manner of chalk
we scribbled those dreams
the shadows of them on our backs
branded ourselves with our made-up
dead languages we had no names for
the months fermented, slid
down our throats bitter, salted
we walked miles of purple
to where our feet could never take us
our words flew like hungry spear, crackled
in the mute slideshow of lightening bugs
we crowned each other holy
wrote wreaths of columbine and clover
rolled into morning the honey
marrow of living with blank paper hearts
Tags: Poems