.
Shivering
hyphae
swell
across the expanse of soil,
buried
deep within
the
memory
of
that moment.
There
is a hymn trembling
in
the currents of air,
like
the murmur of tree-bound leaves,
the
motion of flower stems
that
nest
down
with the moss
and
the rot.
Maiden’s
hair fern shadows
a
basin,
where
water moves in circles,
reminiscent
of the Koi
which
once dwelled in the lower levels.
My
hair is drifting now,
gone
greenish in the river
and
half laying damply across the rock
and
the sand,
eyes
and lips closed…
I
am clothed in a membrane,
pale
and flaccid,
near-white with death,
and
sticky…
dripping
liquid life
across
the shore.
My
lungs have ceased to breathe
long
before,
although
my heart
keeps
an unsteady beat
to
the sound
of
weeping.