Green Tongues

—

Whenever my purple hunger builds,

and I send myself down into my pillow

and up into the sandy bank of my mind,

I am reminded to look out

again

and believe

again

in the crank of the metal latch,

in the dew-wet leaves that flash light on the walls,

in the way two tongues will press out one song

a green language

like a ribbon trailing around our room

summoning me from the burrow,

furred ears pricked and pale,

into an unknown reservoir.

In this landscape

I understand that desire is changeable,

perhaps it’s a mere adjustment in the arc of flight,

or harnessing a different wind in the open ocean,

sure, but it is not

until desire itself flies straight through me that I realise

the day’s delay and astonishing displays are taking place without me,

and nothing belongs to anyone.

Song will send us

a threaded chorus

again and again and again.

Its green scent alive and thrumming in the back of our throats.

Like a warm engine

sending us out into the world. Whereas, love,

like crumbs through the blue forest,

will call us back again.

—

[image is of artwork titled “Bog at Dusk” by artist Jennifer Laflamme, created using Nihonga pigments and ink on naturally dyed quilted silk.]