Trees

I am tangled in the trees now. The birds are annoying and noisy. the wind whips me throught the leaves like they aren't event her but the bark grates on my non skin forms and sometimes I can't even feel like I am breathing, not breathing. Something. The wind and I have become one but I cannot leave with it because these green and brown branches have ma tangled in their wining, cracking existance, I think they are sucking me into themselves like making me part of the trees or perhaps even trying to pull me through the sap into the rings and linse and cells of the interior itself and yank me into the ground so I can spread throught the roots and disperse into the earth. But I am not ready to disperse, I must find my children, my poor dead children, Do not take me yet mother, I am not ready.

Timeflow

Todaytomorrowyesterdaytomorrow all is the same; not one from the other creeping voices coming through. All times are the same, daynightdaynight I can hardly tell which is which. Mostly by the level of activity around the world around me not by the cycles of the sun. I think I am gradually becoming less of me and more of the world and roundings. But without me, my beating, my floating, my babies will dissappear and I can't do that they are slopping into oblivian with me for who is there to remember them when I am gone. I can see their faces and smell their smells and oh how I need to wrap my arms around my babies but where are they and how can I keep from slipping away?

River route

Am I old enough yet to be forgiven. Who is to forgive me. The Rio Grande won't. Black and brown water slugish and flowing to the end of the world. the trees are solid one minute, burning the next and I am still lost. Forgiveness tastes yellow and blue but how would I know. Only I imagine that my babies can look at me with love again but I cannot believe it.

Heartbeat

It is so long since I have come to the surface. Since I could sing or breath or feel my heart beating. Today, I can almost feel those things. I can almost dance on feet I haven't had for 100 years. The pink sky and the pink of my heart can almost beat together. Something has changed, the scent of the river, the colors of the day. I am soaring, like my children are close so close that I could have them back in the next few moments, or the next few minutes in this timeless way.

Color

Troubadour of color, singing greens and lavender to weave all the world into magnificence. Sometimes all I see is color, blues and wines interweaving. Those are my happiest times when the loss can fade into the pinks and greys and heart ache, heart beats, and heart flows fold into each other and all is just layer over layer and colors of laughter and colors of life and sadness are all one flower engulfing me into silence.

Live

Swimming today, moving, remembering muscles but not finding them. The sensation of sinues, so simple, the soreness of hard work, the heart of beating restlessley. Thump thump of a broom hitting a hanging rug. You are so lucky who can feel these things, I pine for life as I pine for my lost children. One for the other the other for the one and all are gone now.

Pulse

Have I been 500 years or two? Where are my babies, why can't I stop acheing for them. The brown earthy scents of them, the clean baby hair of them. The blood of them. No - no blood. No heart beating down where each pulse makes more flow. No. The scent of blood, the river, the pouring swirling red, rojo silent and screams gone and just stillness after the kicking and weeping only as my heart breaks again and again and again. Why did I have to remember the scent of them. It always breaks down into bloodness. Sour, thick. Ohhhhhhhhhh I ache in my heart and my skin and my hair and all those other imaginary parts not left to me. My pulse without a pulse.