There are weeds flowering openly.
Tender stalks. Fragrance.
A heavy calm.
I have felt storms bend inward
destroying themselves; the lost
discover losing.
And the dance. Insects singing.
Gulls stuttering inland.
Heavy mud.
Exploded seed is in the wind:
weed flowers spreading
in my veins.
And the song.
I hear careful words
choking on expression:
and the breathing.
The wind blows another
against my breast
and another.