When I left
I walked straight, and the parabola of the
Sun carved a tangent behind the softly bruised hills.
The sky drained, and the sour
Lemon moon tacked left and left again,
An indifferent disclosure of wan sulfuric paint with a
I walked until my feet rubbed raw on the scored
Pavement and I felt the blood filling up my shoes.
And I hovered,
And rose, unblinking, at the
Leaves, glazed with lavender and seaglass,
The chrysalis forever frozen, my legs
-David M.J. Hoffman