I arrange roses in a Mason jar
That smells of strawberry jam.
A throat full of birds seizing
The songs caged in my heart.
I will always remember
My first suicide and how I failed
Even to summon death.
I wipe the mud from my boots.
The crocuses jitter in the breeze
A shamanic fervor, a crossroads
Whenever I see the color blue
I unravel my girth and head south.
The shine of one derelict star
Promising to encompass everything.
Owls skulk in the dead of night
Soundless, invasive, their talons
Set like thorns into a spastic frame.
I thread moonlight
Through my xenophobic veins
An inferential lobotomy
A triumph of photons over provisionals.