Plants of Flesh. L.M.

Serene, I sleep, the forest's mouth,
It claps my body in its teeth,
It tears me to a thousand parts,
Its top and bottom grimly meet.

Into the earth my body seeps,
Through amethyst and smold'ring stone,
It slowly puckers through the dirt,
Emerging 'midst the grass and moss.

Each growing plant of sullen flesh,
Sends out a striking burst of light;
As warping with the curve of earth,
Each beam extends into the night.

Each telegraph of stricken skin
Arrives up high where angels live
And meets the prophets in the clouds,
Past human ingenuity.