words don’t belong to me
Images even less
look down for roots
nothing else than scattered bones to the best
pieces of shrapnel, wine bottles and gall.
maybe they are up in the purified light of laurels
seeds of regenerated angels stacked
in piles way up before the riots.
I cover the sidewalks
different shoe steps on the medieval streets
of the city
small branches crackle
path to myself in landscape
look for prayers, laying in fertilizers
when I was 12 we had an amazing relationship
when I liquified in my grandmother’s yard,
in your presence everywhere
roots were growing from me reaching all of you
until I tied you up, I knocked you down on your butt,
I pushed you on your back and I was laughing
I could hear nothing more than my laugh
I wiped you out like a wave, your ubiquitous presence
a blue jay landed on one of my branches
that was all that it was left after 12 years old.