Untitled
at the other side of river
are the stolen roots of healing-moon-giving trees
left by wayward wind.
my skin whispers—
wind is traversing to reach the corn field of druid
for another robbery;
that it’s a good chance for me to be
a thief and rejuvenate my lacerations-covered heart.
without blinking,
i jump from bank to stepping stone to stepping stone
to stepping stone.
[if i leave a stone unturned, stone wouldn’t
wait to haunt me like guilty for( long/ ever) ]
another jump—
my right foot on the old
stepping stone and i am
river’s sensuality.
i am wet,
wet as mad hen,
wet as mad hen.
wetness adds to the weight. i am heavy. my body
is a loaded chariot without horses and charioteer.
/* blindfolded blindfaith */
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