poem 78 of a poem a day for 2012

ground glass 

like sand with claws
you fed me so sweetly
when I was hungry
for more of what
we serve the world
with our desires
to be something other
than a passion
without burning
back, ash to sky
to rain, to seed
to crawled bleeds
and all the things
that tear out my eyes
to smell my way home again
my insides are molten refuse
rooted to what the crack of skins
are used to when eating all
of what had died between us
this seems just another
part of the landscape
of how we feed another chrysalis
needing each set of wings we sew
here at the edge of an ocean's begin

EJR (c)