Rain, towering through trees
wets the captive atmosphere of the night
so that veins in the stone conduct presence
to the edge of earliest life where the
dissolved and the crystallized
barely escape from the mouth of the ground.
A tiny drip, a tail -
seen through the slit of a serpents eye.
A room resting in a vast bed of purple cloud
hoses me with a tip made of red hot diamonds.
I glow -
making a wing
out of what must have been a deep, fatal fin
black enough to pierce a cage
bleached not by me
but by a dream of what is not me…
Like a bird flowed of feathers
sunshine grew
hiding from a raven-field sheath
knifetips held between blades that cut the sky
insulating lucid yet inconceivable shadows.