soil

the back arched
the vertebrae rose
one by one, sunrise of many worlds
bones in air

it is of pale pink skies, a firstborn flush
and trees, against it
black and deep of greenery

it is of pain, abandonment
of bullets laced with gentle melody
of photographs within the howling wind

the hand moved
the fingers gripped
two by two, milkyways in every tear
buds of stone

it is of bodies, careening through the air
of fiery dirt roads, fields in silent grace
of daffodils, of loss beneath the sun

it is of others, days
of steady holding shoulders and of peace divine
of kite-tails fluttering in eternal breeze