mulch blend(s)

when you hover-over some oak, body faced toward an unmarked sky, you’re tempted with its splinter, protruding through the

dark

center

of gravity, you become a swift force that breaks through storied concrete. I miss when a breath held meaning, I miss when a name slid out of my mouth like slickened silver

catching truths and lies like a roof scupper during a thunderstorm. I belong to whatever season that seeks out my name, drizzled in patter and thumps. I mold my name into droplets and hand each syllable off to a tree with shade, that creeps over my balcony at sun-

d

o

w

n

my throat holds nothing that doesn’t belong to me. like an inconsolable mother at a wake. like my father, who trickles through the weeds of my mind. steeped in mulch and biochar. a microbial activity we are. I think it’s okay for me to rest here, once a disorderly field of our own making.