My story is deep rivulets and currents.
Never will you know me: desert
blue and silver sand untwigged me.
I have no sap left for insects;
no pith will ooze your palm. No.
I toppled long ago and now you rest
soft meat here – talk and chew, talk, chew;
not knowing what you do.
Lay hands on me and feel my deeper scars
fleshed with aeons – dead – and yet,
like all illuminated souls,
waiting for my sea of resurrection.