From Blossoms, Li-Young Lee.

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward   
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into   
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
~Li-Young Lee.

Emotional Mapping, Day 1.

gasping minerals, fly–

saturation, extraction

the burning bubbling fire underneath our mercury trails

streaked in blood

pulling from a deep, deep earth,

embedded in the fingernails of the searching ones,

alone in the rushing of an overflow of oil;

a tender Tearing, branches of sinew

pulling through uninterrupted roots.

It’s a creeping, this crippling slow blindsight,

a choreography of thwarted alchemies,

a ritual of spillage/slippage,

a painstaking investigation of elemental battle wounds.