squeeze the water, palms full of fish...

photo by EJR ©

patience in a ladder lattice

a Lazarus rasped

in ice falls

winter is

a quiet coffin cold

a spooky place

where my old thoughts

go to die

and my new thoughts

first crawl

they are dancing

between silver

and shadow

my soul automates

a survivalist gyrate

is my mind

altered enough

sewn or stated

a stand

of biographical trees

languages, limbs, leaves

am I carved bark

and knees

eager initial fingertips

am I only

a reach for fetish footwear

and masks

how do I climb

between ash and snow

between fires

and twine tendril spawn prayers

between my lips

and my tongue

between what

my articulations become

tiny cuts feeding

passages, poems

and ores I've stored

as my rest assured

somewhere in some life

of mine, before

or yet to be

I have meaning

meant again

for spring

EJR ©