Not able to stand, but standing
Back among you
I am as I was, but blanched.
Not of this world,
But wanting to talk, I am
Simply scalded from walking
My fire. The air I carry, blackdamp.
Kindled alone and wrapped
As if in a tight, hot sheet
And my body so cold inside it.
I have missed you.
Or something like you
Perhaps the scatter of hay-high grass,
Its frivolous unseeding. Or a flash
the flutter and wobble of that.
Once I tamped down
Denatured earth, all for a root to take
Hold. How similar was my life
The rampant touching of vines,
Unwatered lawn grown over, unmown,
My children, and childhood, gone.
And yes, my distinctive cough.
That room, where I kept you small.