and when I've grown tired

of the ground i will swallow

the soils, redeem an appetite

rushed with weeds and bitter

creek green

saying, wherever was too

fragile to carry, i will raise

against my own breaking

remembering just how

the voices went unhurried

from the sparking debris

of lifted song, tumbling

at the banks drifting

bodies caught up

against the spill of stories

___

WILL DAVIS is a nurse and writer of small poems residing in the bluegrass, where they appreciate cohabitation with songbirds and coffee. Author of 'Starter Pistol, Opening Prayer' with Alien Buddha Press. Further scribbles @ByThisWillAlone.