We’re what haunts here as sun falls into our mouths.
Branches scratch backs as we chase wild hares to curved roots.
Gifts to dead gods only worshiping living.
Insects halt crawls to clamor, splinters stitch skin,
sunlight shades forest fires, we count teeth with tongues.
Wine breathes like exposed bones—we’re on knees but not to pray.
Closed eyes, toppled glasses. Still—nothing’s motionless
Spread over dimpled mountains, showering in falling leaves,
praising palms, washing off under raindrops and who’s on top.
Dip toes into abyss, dive into what echoes know.
We won’t blur in barn hay, we’ll lay bare,
believe our bodies compliment moonlight,
bending one another to constellation shapes.