Turning Leaf Migrations

There Were Seedlings From the Terraced Lakeside – Doppled Sprouting Points

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where winters and springs

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Where Beginnings And Endings Met And These Things Stuck Inside Of Each Other Like Honey Drops.

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Uprooting Mycelium In The Night Forest Of "Grmade" We Spoke With The Bubilant Sage

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While We Crawled Our Dance Around a Fungus Stump Courting the Tiny Folks to Come and Play…

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Wandering Around Inside Of "Ourea" We Blew Into The Breathing Of The Stochastic Rushing Water

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And Once Again, The Mirror Was Too Steamed To Cross The Voracious Throat

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That Even Falling Couldn't Forge A Path To Send Back The Frozen Land.

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That Sleeping River Has Seen The Bombs That Just Sank Into Its Phlegmatic Walls.

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Backing Up Into A Cultural Ditch We Slobbered Through The Din Of The Alcoholics' Babble

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Hiding Out in Shelters Where We Bounced the Wireless in Circles, Back on Top of Itself – So Much So That the Water Didn't Come In.

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We Waved Our Leaves Over Broken Branches Piled On Top Of Each Other Endlessly To Obscure The Spring

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Where Even Once We Slept By The Arctic Ocean When Cloud Drops Bounced On Our Strings.

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We Rose on Top and Sang to the Stars – So Far That the Differences Were Yet to Been Seen…

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