Transcending

A poem of ascension

Every time the trees speak in their forgotten language of wind and leaves and creaking limb whispers, he wonders what it all means. He wonders why at times it feels like all the air around him hums like a jar full of angry bees, his hands begging to be thrust into the washbasin of sky and wrung out like flightless birds’ tears into a rainstorm. Everyone is busy getting cancer and fucking up their lives, while the crickets continue to sing their siren song at dusk, an open invitation to embrace the nakedness of darkening trees, to disintegrate into sparks.