Here is a poem I wrote a few days ago after a particularly rich, self-facing, nature-emergent day.



Throw your ego to the wolves

and the sparks of your youth will fly towards you.


You go to meet that ancient child—


as future self.


Imperfectly perfect

with your secrets 

worn as flowers in your hair.



I lay on the ground today,

bits of it still lie on my back

as I sit here



the touch of it

the feel of it

the weight of my body—

like a fallen tree


and then

I lay on the cement,

and watched the clouds undress

the moon.


This morning I read that clouds

weigh as much as 20 elephants.


I weigh as much as heaven when I’m upside down.



I faced my self underground—

she had ribbons as roots

and no desire


other than to know me

exactly as I am.


Future and past,

lion & queen

madly mated in holy ritual.


POEMZoë DearbornComment