Sweet grass, green sun down
in the moist of my blood; soft
smoke, yellow curl round
the window's ear. Open my
cartilage to the language
of anguish & from
that gentle lapping, the sharp
shore watches me. I
greet gritty sand on fragile
feet; an aubade along the
walls of my mouth. Green
moss, algae, sea's weed & palm
trees line the boulevard
of milk eyes; I'm back,
deep in what remains. I pick
pink pebbles & plant
the dawn sky's constellations;
new, frail & green, shoots
curled like warm snake tongues licked by
dew. I'm water; I wisp,
I shadow, hold hands
& jump bridge, hoping among
pantheons of planets.
It is the green, I've been
chewing the brown, crackling edge
of harmattan. I've been
chewing curd, watching
the world run.
Attribution: The Spanish Paniter, Francisco Goya, from his collection, Caprichos.