barefoot soul, sketched
through chicken wire lenses
floats in spaces criss-cross
vexing her body,
as the pixel splattered
frey of her borderless image
–
stirs shy dust with the pulse
undulating earth into the clover
clouds, she palm pockets, above
the valley’s tread of herself
–
where they peer at her, behind
the stare she has learned not see,
she falls under night, green
glowing larval markings
defend her mapped moist wings
–
and she hatches a face
with the dark’s parasitic grains,
crests a butterfly in the waves
her wingwind orchestrates-
–
surging in dream
–
she sees them playing,
begging to invent the infinite
incapacity of her world;
–
and so, the unconscious stirring
stippling her shadow
grows
the more
it’s light is hidden
–
barefoot soul, live
in the art the word
has taught us to forget
