skin of an old god
glimmers
green glow
I take a run
into the
sharp
unknowing
razor blade
bars
clean cut me
into four
fine pieces
the first
a feast
of photosynthesis
beading
each pigment
to the next
the second
sent to parry
with the breeze
to syncopate
to diverge
to
keep
it
wild
the third
dancing
with the shadows
hands
around the hips
of
silhouettes
romancing
the dark
the fourth
with the cool
damp of stone
in its arms
dissipates
into the
hot
hum
of air
offerd as part of One Stop Poetry's One Shoot Sunday
