I am perched with the flat wing, we both know how far that gets me here; don’t freeze in the twigs
with me,  I  won’t  return  to mushroom patches,  no hole slick  rain steps,  just  peat, algae blooms,
forest  turned  inside-out,  wish  I  had a  plan,  but I’ve got your  heart,  a  map-stamp to  wrist-slap
without sorrow; I am not the thief here.  Freedom is foliage with no direction, red-pink bird howls,
shaking  a  sack  of old coins,  your hands  take  without  asking,  callusses and  cuts from conquer;
have you ever  felt fresh aloe?  I am  harvesting with  the dull knife,  you arrive  with knots,  nets,  a
mold-patch  sunflower batch,  all teeth  and no sand;  my shelterless lover,  why do you think  these
birds  fly  in circles?  Above us,  a swollen  moon,  a popped  sky,  a grandmother’s rain,  I’m  calling
for a seance.  You know nothing of survival,  but I am a wilderness.  I’ve got a stomach full of shock
and  regolith,  I’m  tired of  chewing up  your meals,  I  am  not a  mother  to you,  I’m desire  on  the
precipice of panic, I’m overseeing a belly-up  deer and I’m ready  to crawl inside,  to be warm again;
I learned  all  the spells  once  in a kitchen closet,  I was a witch  picking  at grout,  now I  have fresh
plants and my marriage to detritus.  Come searching for everything I am not,  gold bones,  ready for
strange power,  by the time we  get to  the forest’s edge  I’m already  covered  in clay,  and I still don’t
know what I’m trying to say to you; maybe I’m sorry, maybe I’m flying now