Book Lungs
I miss the smell of split hardwood
And the weight of carrying something good
Finding and offloading firewood
That used to be me.
The thought appends to me
Like a spider’s web to a bloody finger
The acting and accounting
For entanglement.
Breathe like a spider
The book lungs of a spider
The fire, water, wind
And the sound of earthly sorrows
Couldn’t put the web down into the dirt
Nor settle on its incredible worth.
The spider quavers from left to right
The fits of agitation and disorder
Breathe happenings for nothing.
Breathe like a spider
The book lungs of a spider
Page by page
Leaf by leaf
Song by song
Until all firewood has been carried and burned out.
(Words by Tylea copyright 2018)