I long for the mirror of someone's eye

to see the heat underneath my skin

and run and run and run

with me

to break the wilting fate

of the daisy chains of youth.

Maybe we could be

a pair of otters, twirling aqua harps,

tickling greens and sheen

when breaking through

the earth's diaphragm, feasting in play

as well as hunger.

I am not beautiful but I can breathe

Kingfishers with my mind.

If someone held onto my spokes

for free

and not to gain

another link on a bracelet

that lets your arms weigh heavy

with sex and money

and that precious gold -

that fame of bundling up wit as friends,

I could give you

Fields that still burn in autumn years

like the sapphire that births the Sun.

I have grown a garden silently,

and the shame has turned my heart to tears;

look behind the sentence

and the beat grows

like rubies in a volcano.

I have kissed the cello

and his roar

is my blood, that flows

through the skull to the epic forrest

where I have just become

The Fawn.