Thawed soil’s gravy
drips up into and kneads
my careless back.
—
These sleeping, naked limbs
fail to stop the sun,
and impress on open eyes
like stamps on gleaming canvas.
—
Closed, blank for
branches to bloom
into an umbrella of flowers and youth.
The tree billows and fills
the negative emptiness
in a corporal dark room.
—
Peek, the scene is refreshed by the chilled sun.
Those bare bones are again
painted in my sight,
while a lone stone etches
easily into my welcoming back.