i want to hear blurred vision

and maybe i need one less cup of coffee. a poem

the way the leaves dance up toward the sky,
each stem more delicate than the last
and this bird chirping relentlessly 
as i finish this sentence,
and now again in the bamboo forest
light speckles everywhere and
i can’t tell shadows from leaves
and there is a window into heaven
in the breeze rustling 
waves of branches and prayer flags
red, orange, blue, and green
soothe this tired fire of mine,
overreaching, 
sweeping things into oblivion 
like the tornado that touched down
last week. 
was it me?
today i’d like to be a strawberry
or a forest feary or a cat
lounging in the grass.

i want dirt 
and a mountain spring down my spine, 
crystalline consciousness,
the heat on my skin and the way it’s
actually sparkling — i swear
my arms could be covered in glitter
if i didn’t know any different.
it’s too hot, though. i’ve been burning
and burning and burning. 
no worse. no better. just
smoldering. 

how long will the fire burn? and 
why do i assume fire is the only way
to the heart of me?
cool breeze, water, wings, lush trees
in a canopy. i want to swim again
in that river we visited. i want to
sink beneath
and hear blurred visions.
i want to speak to algae and
feel my particles dissolving into
not nothing, but not me.
this heat!
i must find somewhere 
more comfortable.
i simply cannot bear 
another second in this desert. 
i’ve too much to say, and not enough ways.
who will receive ALL of this? i wonder sometimes,
nobody invites a tornado into their home
on purpose. do they?

was i a tornado when i met you?
i can’t recall the weather exactly, 
but i know it was hot — i laid on the deck
reading you like my life depended on it.
because, well, it did. and you told me
you liked open gates. you liked
peering in. i took it as an invitation. 
a flood commenced. maybe this fire
was an attempt to temper it?
i think it backfired. or else, 
worked perfectly as anticipated,
drawing me back to the wood and the water.
home in the elements. ground in my marrow.
one less cup of coffee. maybe.
maybe decaf. maybe chocolate.
there’s no taming me anyway.
perhaps the tides are shifting —
an aurora borealis in my psyche.
breathe.
colors entwining 
like the hydrangea
i cast a spell with yesterday. 

thank you for reading, dear one. if you enjoyed this whoosh of magic, why not follow along the journey?

ps. i always appreciate a comment or a share 🤍🩵💙💜🩷