the middle finger of my right
hand
grows a tree
white tap roots skitter
down
interweaving with my veins
branches protude
fingerlings swimming upward-
against gravity
northbound -
this is homeward drive
where mollusks are plenty
my body is listening
leap
capture the raging
tides swelling within-
this warm clay
coarsely molds friction & fire
with flights of fancy
to sculpture -
wings are not required
the fruiting is art
Artist Credit: Anastassia Zamaraeva
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - 2024 Poets Leaping hosted by Lisa Fox. Thanks for your comments and visits.
