ANOTHER SENSITIVITY
Awakened by a gradual loosening of sand between my fingers, by rough cryptic rubbings that red potatoes fill in creases belonging to my unwashed palms, by the sweet sighs crushed basil flowers expel behind the back of my nostrils, I stand inside myself. I know I sleep best when black soil crumbles its loose texture upward around the new sprouts of bean plants, but because I’m always so anxious knowing a tomato on its vine bulges with lightning inside its red heart of seeds, I can’t help but stay awake. So intent am I not to miss a thing, I even go so far as to disarm my alarm clock. Now I regularly observe fresh shallot greens shake the flowering moons of their lavender colored seeds across a warmth of damp black soil. When real quiet, I hear a tight brain inside an acorn make silence my first and last name. It appears for now I need nothing. All I have is all there is.
Osiris 66, 2008
Osiris Poetry 