circle circle dot dot

a leak and a lake

found unscrambled in the flower and the dew

filled with grasshoppers that are praying

to avoid the mantis that makes men

look lost in skirts and the twirl of a tornado

that makes no sense

like this poem

for i have found that the hardest thing

is to not be the shepherd

but instead the lead sheep

for it is the herder who heralds

the following flock

just as it is the wind that

calls the tornado home

and shapes the praying mantis

into the god of grass

without the need of hopping

but hoping for the lake

that brings life to all

leaky lives

*

he said i should care

for my palms

with a white paint

that would stop the pain

if i was a careful painter with alignments

that bugs would never be able to cross

for there is a fullness of the sun if you looked long enough

a circle that connected the first nothing to the last everything

that would kill the ants that crawl and the beetles that dig

and the bark that rots if not for my hands held and whole

into a hug

into little spaces where you drill

into a heart

xrayed eventually for disease and dips

where the doctors will say

that the left atrium was home to too many

pests that have consumed you

with dreams of white picket fences circling

and a house found in the strokes that will come

when you are old and solo

but remaining high and careful

still painting the trees with dresses

for you learned

to watch for infestations

of yours and you