your eyes are ancient
warm stones well worn by waters
impossibly gray
i think of my heart
empty. but what i see are
hollow lungs, breath full.
soft stone seattle
you've grown green moss on me like
lichen on a tree
driftwood driftwood!
you're back from the sea!
paid for salt with your sap you're
as dry as can be.
you walk like a cat
soft padded swagger, straying,
a feline beeline.
blood red ink
i don't remember hurting
writing, yes
how you phosphoresce
in natural light, to your
touch, a testament
in rescue
roots severed by spades
in effort
i am not waiting
held in place by sky and earth
dust i will become
'i'm old,' you profess
scrolled tongue and papyrus breath
rough edges curled lips
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