Renascence

I could live again.
I could say:
This body has hung
against the tree
long enough.
No longer
will I let the sun
leather my flesh
until it crackles like
poorly cured leather.
I could live again.
I could be the seedling,
uncoated, cracked open
and no longer closed in
on itself. I could be
the seedling spilling
like wine poured out
from the leather flask,
like anthers
stirring the blossom.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s