Out of the ginger a small stem peered, brushing the light from its eyes and swelling with the flux of one long breath. Yesterday the cardinals came to feed near the garden. They found the sunflower seeds that I had scattered quietly in the dawn for their ghosts. There is a jar on the counter, sweet with lucious decompostion. Small carvings of banana peel and pineapple let their sex fumes permeate. An offering for fruit flies. Too much bamboo. The loquacious stepmother gossipers of the botanical harem. What taboo have the winds violated this time? Waiting, perfectly immoble. It sits on its buddhist. The breath before the kill is meditation, the blood the reward of heaven eternally leached by those hairy fangs. In the field strange ice sculptures formed in the exhale of the smoky, lonely dawn. Stumbling through the mud to find these, I slowly trace a hole with the warmth of my finger.
mmmm. hello. You've made my mouth water. A beautiful, pensive rhythm...frond-like. Also, it's quite a puzzle. I'm impressed.
Yes, each stanza is a gem, a full cup, a paradox... you blend complementarities so well with your keen eye-heart. We are fortunate to bear witness to these inspirations.
Very good. To me it decribes the trivial behavior of nature. That might not be what you're going for, but that's what I caught. Keep on writing. Don't ever lose touch, it may be hard to find again.
