four pieces

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