we move. like the water, like the wind
– across rock, across soil –
until people speaking of common activities
and customs will completely baffle
sometimes the growing season’s quite short
compared to our place of origin
even so, she wants tropics
where everything in the closet
will mildew before sunrise
and there’s no worry of frost
we’ve gone underground, ourselves
after trusting too much in human love
emerged not on rock or air wholly
but collected from scattered places
and pieced back, as best anyone can
with blueberry-stained hands
so what’s the name of your divinity?
your desires? your natures?
the apple of your eye?
even the forest seeks climax
she’ll say, quartering a winesap
its burgundy ringing
Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
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