 Blog PostsFriends         | Under the soilUnder the soil, crystal roses bloom, born in silicates released from tendrils of water that pull back, releasing the buried gift. Your hand, deep beneath me, released my soul as life pulls back, with time's constant tug elsewhere, and all you get to show for it are these lousy poetic fragments.If light breaks the soil, exploding the surface with heat, accelerating the schedule of life's coming and going, ripping the water from my solution, I am scattered like a cloud of fine dust left from an explosion of powder, fine grained as light, rising to your darkness. Under you, breaking free in red beads, an offering accumulates. Made to coincide with the turning of your soil, the great upheaval winds a tube of black covered in sparks of blood. You are the sky wound around a spear that twists endlessly home. |