I want to become very small
Like the final clover flower of fall
Curled up tightly against the cold
Or the littlest lamb in the littlest fold
Like a roly poly that’s been touched
Or a plastic cup that’s been crushed
And casually tossed into the trash
But maybe I just need to crash
Burrow into the blankets on my bed
Dream small dreams and play dead
Wake up with the bears in spring-
Maybe then, I’ll be a bigger thing
He sang a spell
And they heard him down the valley
Fireflies streamed from hollowed-out trees
And danced in waves
The summer night is big
But stars never frighten a bullfrog
Listen-
He will tell you himself
His full throat bellows a melody
A chorus line of crickets follows his lead
Sit down by the fire with a fifth of whiskey
Listen-
He’ll tell you himself
Later, when your teeth gave up their roots
Handfuls of hair signaled the sickness
The cancer grew
Did you regret seeing that first flowering fire
The shadowless glare of that second sun
In purple, green, and white?
Or did you think to yourself on your final bed,
I looked Shiva in the eye
And lived (for a while)
To tell the tale
When he pulled himself up from the burning sand
Beneath palm branches, rum drink in hand
Nothing was ever quite the same
They say his body burned, but his heart remained
A phoenix in flip-flops – triumphant, tanned
A new world, a new man
Why fly back? he thought. Just to test my wings?
I’ll stay – conquistador, son of kings
The plants are taking it all
Back. Gray-black bricks are crumbling,
The roof is about to fall
In. Small monkeys are tumbling
From tall branches and tangled
Vines. My innocent living
Room — where my brother wrangled
The dog, where our frolicking
Ended sprawled out on the couch —
Now corrupted by salt ash.
Sometimes, a bobcat will crouch
By the kitchen door, where rash
Rabbits like to fornicate.
Only wind moves through the gate.