Veins like branches. Arteries.
The spindles that bind and lace them.
Optic nerves in my eyes that reflect
The pattern of the leaves.
Dissolving into my open pupil.
I absorb into my tissue
The grass’ dewy spit.
It smothers my vision
Green. Green. Green.
It has pierced my heart
And left me open.
It pours out while they pour in
Each beat matches the howl of the wind
And as blood pumps, the leaves begin to fall.