He likes me here (when he arrives)
but I've ducked through a crack in the bricks
to the other side
of him and myself
to the other side of us.
I climb a path I found that climbs the sky
or knifes through bedrock
a dimension I don't know how, just know.
Brambles tear thick canvas, thick indigo
the skin of bald feet, still perfumed.
I planted them here to keep me away
until my skin can take and heal wounds.
I wear stripes to measure my breath,
but as my belly grows they seem to cross, twist , switch
My spirit's a boy's, not grown
should I slide jeans over hips like a boy
or should I lie in wildflowers
I myself planted.
Caring not the contradicton
caring not my belly's growing,
my hips always showing.
They climb a mountain I,
I myself, planted
to keep me away
until I willing climb in hips
to lie in wildflowers.
oct 28, 08
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