Word Knots



Span of index, arms weakened

Rambles upon wrinkles, I am

Pressed between Earth and

Air…..Flow upon my continent’s

Systems, scattered over ranges


Puddles flirt with thirst, Lakes,

Mock the drought of my

Throat, Reservoirs dribble…

For My body is a gathering

Of harvests from the oncoming

Winter, the divining rod dust

Only Scent lingers, eternal pine


I look to the snow, Taste

The season, a melted past of

Garnished greens, grays, and suns


Hearty robin, ever alive, steam

Floating from her beak, Nest

Built of water, sticks, and mud

Her Feathers, wisdom’s movement

Lay upon my words, a slow worm

Snagged from frosty grass

Scrawled black upon the field

Desert letters made of tree knot


Symbols smeared / slants of rain

The blue, blue liquid cleanses

Meaning, shot out of innards

The words, worms always

Cut in two, the clay I am


My eyes, lids nearly glued shut

Begging for preservatives

Or the relieving thought of

A connection to moisture

That will keep words moving

My wet hand through dirt.

Pain rides up between thumb

Finger, Palm and Lifeline.

My arm is silent, swollen.




Language is oil now, dug

Dug, deep under my nails


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