Pan said to wait
before She came
start writing near
that big tree
hung with bark
blossom careen
fanning hangs
of genitalia
each branch
a little tree
a diorama
that sees infinity
in small scale
growth factors
sky reaching blue
and a golden rue
that slurries
the hurried milk
fed Suns of time
the woven
dimes inside
old telephone booths
wooden glass
folded fast
past the smell
of peeling paint
rotary dial
thick rubber cord
seat still warm
worn smooth
with the way
we used to linger
on the phone
we still pine
for the piano wire
and coffee can
in the forest
looking for hands
Pan knows
to cull the land
of those willing
to surrender too
and lie in wait
for more
thirst to pour
open mouthing
kind to sensual rain
languages explain
what ripple tingle skin
and irises widening
at each begin
can bend
crooked to
the sounds
fingers find
and form letters
and lines
in the sand with
each of our ways
back to the garden
back to here
where
I just
have to listen
and laugh as I
start writing near
that big tree
fucking the air
to get inside
more of
Her gravity
EJR ©
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