Turning Leaf Migrations

There Were Seedlings From the Terraced Lakeside – Doppled Sprouting Points

Where Winters and Springs

Where Beginnings and Endings Met and These Things Stuck Inside of Each Other Like Honey Drops.

Uprooting Mycelium in the Night Forest of “Grmade” We Spoke With the Bubilant Sage

While We Crawled Our Dance Around a Fungus Stump Courting the Tiny Folks to Come and Play…

Wandering Around Inside of “Ourea” We Blew Into the Breathing of the Stochastic Rushing Water

And Once Again, the Mirror Was Too Steamed to Cross the Voracious Throat

That Even Falling Couldn’t Forge a Path to Send Back the Frozen Land.

That Sleeping River Has Seen the Bombs That Just Sank Into Its Phlegmatic Walls.

Backing Up Into a Cultural Ditch We Slobbered Through the Din of the Alcoholics’ Babble

Hiding Out in Shelters Where We Bounced the Wireless in Circles, Back on Top of Itself – So Much So That the Water Didn’t Come In.

We Waved Our Leaves Over Broken Branches Piled on Top of Each Other Endlessly to Obscure the Spring

Where Even Once We Slept by the Arctic Ocean When Cloud Drops Bounced on Our Strings.

We Rose on Top and Sang to the Stars – So Far That the Differences Were Yet to Been Seen…