Nada Gordon

and all the flowers that grow...
first ode to spring, or the greenness of money

feeling the thud of feet
on earth I lie
fugue state, simultaneous
compositions, all my skins
feeling spring like
a lotion, juice, arms
becoming branches
daisies becoming
coiled like tendrils
and birds flappier
ends of trees are hands
stretching up to sky
life's effort
tiny gruntings
not knowing you well
I sex your possibility