It’s so much older than
any familiar skin,
down to rot and roots,
the great temple of the ancestors,
peanuts not withstanding,
this iron this spark this offering,
first tellings and ritual
reboots, patterns placed
deep within our cells,
knots tied in thick sequences,
the plodding sense of destiny
worked thoroughly from flesh to
recipe, old spells
spoken close to the tethers
the bristle of the spark
the binding to the wish
I carry a framework
whim and will inseparable
towards the tide
they oblige on the old form
abandoning fields to
the forest, depths
unbound from root to reach,
this burning below
unseen stars, these bones
around the fire.
The contents of my pockets
besides my greedy paws and you.
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