It is a delicious moment,
Delirious sky.
The sun burning deeply,
Her skin starts to fry.
She gathers her senses,
Surrounded by life.
When death beckons shyly,
She submits to his knife.
It’s only a metaphor,
We grow and we die,
And laugh at the Present,
The Goddess on High.
She sat by the river,
Dreaming.
Singing to water birds,
And frogs in the slime.
Distant places alive in her mind.
It’s not so hard, called the grasses wild,
You’re rooted to earth,
This isn’t your fault.
It’s a breathing, crumbling, uplifting result.
Her thoughts began shifting,
She rustled her leaves.
Wind carried her desires,
And soon there was peace.
The elements colluded,
Earth, water, air and fire.
She picked up her roots,
And flew to the sky.
There is nothing to say, she laughs. The door swung on it’s hinges, uncertain whether to open or close. The window, wide-eyed, allowed the light to enter, but only with a certain discretion. Cicadas screamed. Over-ripe figs fell to the ground. The walls bared their souls. And the day passed away.
This heat is driving me wild. I roam the island like a feral goat. Bones cracking like sticks under a cloven foot. But it is the antlers that capture me in this moment of abandon. They are only twigs but I am surely a deer.
Jeni McMillan 