Pages

The Earth was flushed,

Blue shards cut through ample branches,

I sit wrapped in knotted roots,

Brittle amber leaves smell like pages

Like the dust that collects on library shelves,

The bark crinkles against my back,

As if the laminated spine had sprouted from the ground,

Coils of wind carefully turn the pages,

And leaves flutter to the damp moss,

Branches separate the heavens from Earth,

Ground swells, red flannels flutter into the sky,

Letters are etched with Cold Steel,

So I stand, brush the vines from my ribcage,

Button up my jacket and head for the road,

With my book tucked underarm,

My bookmark: a leaf.