I touch your skin
without consent,
I cross the bridge of your back
and crack your spine to cut paths.
I lay awake and dream
on a bed supported by your limbs.
I sever your corpse for light and warmth.
I find retreat under the extension
of your arms
and the canopy of your hands.
I gather food from the ovaries of your flowers
and nourish myself with the seeds of your fruit.
I tread over your roots
with thought and wonder,
interrupting conversation with your mother,
your brother
and neighbor.
My elder,
an imperishable lineage
confirmed by the lines
of Darwinian.
The messenger of wind.
The resting point of flight and slither.
The perch for those who pounce.
The hollow home
for eyes to vigil.
You are omnipotent,
body of greatness.
Your Burled eyes
are the holders of
the beginning of time.
Your ash,
the remnant
to the end of life.
Your secrets are many
and mine are folded in the pages
you’ve given me.
So I write,
with gratitude
your meaning of life.
