For Shelley Colbert
despite 54 phylanges prying Fig roots from between the threads
of ancestors burlap, hands force each tendril to spread alone.
all the better to penetrate the waiting hole; pull it’s every
nutrient; gulp the sullied rain to nourish this awkward jutting
thrusting pole; moor these. my wind wild appendages
remain ever snatching at horizons. tensive bodies
celestial taunt. shimmer sing where we’ve been.
before tied to demanded chlorophyll smiles and earth
even as the sun
twitch the moonlight
forget the rising
defiant, restless without moonlight under
a cotton sheet heavier than water ossified.
sap breaking sharp,
the taste of breath condensed
on my bark. hiding
my element calling
protect my pitiable buds
from frost. until dew
and the shroud
blooming open sigh.