Fruiting Body
Sometimes I imagine my body
fodder for damp gardens, sunken
in the permanent earth. I am not dead
weight for trees. Sometimes a carcass
is just a carcass. But the soft
underside of every alive thing
is an offering. Tender bellies up
in surrender, supple throats to suck.
Sometimes I imagine my body
in bed with her body, fertile
with compassion & buds of possible,
a hundred distances made small.
Sometimes I imagine feral
love between us blooming young, the shoots
bursting violent through sternum & soil,
the two of us grown wild & complete.
***
Photo by Enrique Ortega Miranda on Unsplash
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