The Sun In Spain and Birds

you were in and out of  
intricate perceptions
winding thread veins
round and round my branches
to tie me in

tie me into perfect knots
sequestered
and plotted
in the backyards of strangers

did you have to
steal my fruits
then smash their
seed pulp
red and juicy
dripping down my face

like the blood brothers
of saliva and bile
and bodily norms
hinted that under
the bark
i was human

somewhere
entre
la rugosidad
y la muerte rubi
de granada

all over

I could feel the burn
of unfiltered Spanish sunshine

with the winter onslaught
from somewhere too far
they came

birds
blue and green

to whisper secrets
with the patterns
of their wings

they told me
you did what you were told
and were virgin to
the heart of consequence

so in the final days
of harvest rays this year
there is no rot
and no blood
in the lot like cares
I bear