The tree
is my feeling
Its bark is my skin
It stands unfettered
by my noisy rings
in my head
the voice
of the plant
dies
a screech
into the wind
Carries me
far from you
all of you
little blades
of grass under
the blue cloud
Rivers of atrophy
running through
my roots of silence
old silence
mad silence
I sleep
standing
My feet
underneath
wet, brown soil
