empty, except for ____ (escapril)

empty, except for soil.

it fills me up every spring,

rich redbrown california soil

with sunshine folded in. when it

rains i sit placidly and let the water

soak me, puddling in my head and sifting

down until i am damp all the way through. i lie

on the ground and wait for the sun every morning

and move only in the wind. i am dotted with multicolored

flowers from the plant nursery, their little cubes of soil and root gently

massaged and repotted. i feel the scrape of her pink spade against my brain.

i am filled with the plants from my grandmother's repurposed wheelbarrow, her

handpainted pots in all shapes and sizes. an acorn falls by chance and lands gently on

my chest. it is nurtured by my life and splits down the middle, soft and greenish red. a

root shoots into my heart, a sprout into the sky. i am bound to the clouds by it's singular

spiky leaf, to the earth by it's straightened root. i can move no longer. i can only watch

the clouds lumber by, gentle giants, the stars migrating at night with the turns of

the earth. i feel raindrops on my tongue. i feel my skin peel and crack from

the sun. i feel the butterfly on my palm. i do not sink, rather i feel the

earth rise up and envelop me in nutrient-rich dirt, red, brown,

green. i feel my throat buried and my eyes see only

blue. i fall asleep, until next spring.