Sport 28: Autumn 2002
Nursery
Nursery
On a cruel day, they cut the trees
that stood outside my window.
Their calm had been
a necklace of protection,
the wall of family
that edges in the vision.
My head is emptied thinner
than glass, this brittle cast of shell.
I cannot see without them.
I will find a place where
eyes are never needed.
Where night is certain.
Here I stay in dark that tastes of green.
My skin will settle slowly.
The leaves that cut
the corners of my sight,
grow close to me, touch
kind fingers to my face.
We will be pillowed here, in the blind
where there is no distinction.
I curve my wrists and wait
for fronds to shelter out the light.
Under my feet are dark bulbs
and the slow breath of transformation.