When I cut myself, blood
rises like bread. Lavae
flows down the mountain
into the sea. See the smoke-
it has no body. Remember
how fair the skin stretched
across bones, how green
the hills before flame?
My spirit is pulsing. The river,
cool as sleeping in snow. Now,
trees jangle and ring like thin
leaden bells, latticed and poisoned.
Remember the cold ocean swells,
how jeweled foam rolled into white
frothy crests- before eruption?
