predation

i forgive myself for choosing to be a predator. for sharp teeth and an active imagination. for killing my meat, in an age when killing is a luxury, not a need. i forgive myself for raising birds to be slaughtered, and for doing the slaughtering. for the gasping opened beak and warm blood running down…

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blooming

the world is made of wildflowers and you and i bloom in it. or maybe i am made of wildflowers and you bloom in me. or it’s the sun, and we lay open, exposed and vulnerable, hearts beating, breath drawn in waiting to bloom.

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i put down roots

i put down roots as easy as breathing. fine filaments tangling, binding up the soil wherever i stop. i have roots left in houses, towns, ecologies i’ve left behind– and some in places i’ve never been, borne there like potted plants by the people i’m rooted to. wings are my challenge. always i’m reaching out…

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edges burn more readily

edges burn more readily than centers. setting an edge alight is a simple matter, though putting it out again may not be, if it is inclined towards fire, incendiary, interested in burning. the center doesn’t light so well unless you reach it through the edge, take the slow route in, open its defenses. only water…

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