My body is a gathering of harvests,
Preparing for the oncoming winter.
Old seasons place aches inside
Knees, ankles, and thoughts
Eyes are road weary wise
Voice is tuned to the key of time.
I’m a dusty divining rod
Shaking, vibrating, having found
Elixirs who lie in flux
Under my feet, beneath the crust.
That dancefloor, Earth, where
I executed many moves
Pirouette, The twist, boogaloo
A shing-a-ling, where I planted sprouts
Who grow strong, green, confident.
Their stems bending with the sun
Why? Because it’s a hell of a lot of fun.
It’s true I am soon to be stalks
Matter, to build nests for hawks
Though, my limbs appear falsely hollow
I still dance with toenails bent, yellowed
Looking forward to another coming of spring
Even if new branches, like arms, it refuses to bring