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pete
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i close my eyes and enter my pool,
alone i prune and enter your soul...
massaged by the silent hours
of eyes pressed against my body
and arms flailing
against the whips of the wind
i am submerged in thought
and in contact with your soul
in absentia
the words rise as pot comes to a boil,
i stew as the lid keeps
the steaming thoughts
from dissapating into the cold,
winding air
my body burns and fades from my mind
as my mind comes into its own
and that means
it comes into you and your own
with its words
soon the broth turns to ink
and is sown, not spilt,
like seed into the fertile plains
by my blough
beneath your soil
ancient metaphors brood
new friendships disappate
and i sit in the silence
boiling into words
so i can enter your soul
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040812
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