Becoming > Homecoming

They came at night
Out of the flesh
Out of the wound
Out of moon ribs,
Creeping into sleeping mouths.

Sepal slats
Became slut to survival,
Storm’rush thru fragile glass
Would blind the
Hallowed protection.

Underneath ascents of flesh
Skinned alive by instinct,
One thousand trees
May resemble a mountain
Viewed from behind waterfall scree.

Slow encroachment,
Sundawn, path across water
To the forgiving darkness.
Perhaps, we are the
Only tribe on a hill,
A glance, dust on wing:
Handful of a nation, but
This is our country.

Lovetide’s in flood,
There is no reservoir
We haven’t known.
Shelled oyster ocean
Speared rain ruins
With rustic pitch fork;
Whales find home, rolling in
Waves of frequency.

We see the axe head in river’s silver.
Your sex is wet within me.