sometime, in the gnarled reach of eons

timing ghosts we fall
born wound, rounding lair(s) 
we extend warranty 
playing ritual tides 
and during 
a waxing 
near full Moon 
we surrender 
need for here 
to knead Earth... 

we were digging ourselves 
bent kneed muddied bloodied mirth 
tiny shells and wet sand pearl-cutting into 
tinder dark fertile belly wades, swept first 
from when we had, had earlier, this idea 
of what a slender firth 
could be here for, and why
and so now we knew 
what these ocean tongues 
were claiming to be...

parents of the rain 
and they will crawl too 
often as we do 
through the smallest caves
just to see the trees...


EJR ©