whose flesh lies beyond the edge of the rose

how many dreams encircle a seed

whose love is snow on a black woolen sleeve

 

who cried eight tears into the heart of each star

who runs the circus of death

whose martyred howl shall be restored as flesh

 

petals of rain

honeyed sky

young mountain silently rising inside

island: the moon

that swallowed the moon

a mouth that gathered clouds

 

a short poem published in Issue 5 of tiny wren!!

 

whose vision dies at the entrance to dawn

on which side of my skin is sky

if dream is the cradle, who is the child

 

whose skin has not awakened to green

whose heart is blind with eyes

where are there hands to bandage the sky