Where You Are When I
Am Far Away: A Sonnet
I
want to fall
into purple feathers, the black-eyed susans,
any weed that could hold.
one
rock, gray,
held in my hand. I cradle it
between thumb and forefinger.
one
maple leaf,
green—ripped—stained. I do not hold it.
a
pine cone like a
feather, like a bird. I am holding it
between thumb and fingers, at the edge.
a
spray of green with
red berries. 10 leaves—3 berries—
did I mention the berries were red?
a
pine cone like a
feather and I am holding
it at the edge of my hand, as if.
brown—thin—veined
leaf
like an old woman’s hand.
i
am holding
a fine thin pointed stick and I cannot
resist shaking it, threatening no one.
i
am held
by the green bud, its pink tip like
a waterlily penis—held.
i
hold
a small twig and swirl its magic.
a
dirty flower bud,
a picked flower bud—discarded.
i
am holding a
dry lily leaf, a green and purple leaf, curled
in upon itself. Its stripes, its dry life. Immortal.
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