those first warm hours of the day

[xantipopeninjax]

those first warm hours of the day
shake the ice down from the trees
crumbling in spring
or the tumbling leaves
meeting ground in autumn,
had you known?
(they all make such a noise in falling)
i, persephone,
dull bodied, fickle minded
swinging from deciduous arms
wondering, watching dogs pass
over the sound ice.
who could say, as you know only
absence of intellect, showing
the pumping roots that rest
above the ground.
roots pull up and penetrate a
pocketful of dormant images,
the transposed lilacs at noon
(oh autumn
picked the hyacinths too soon)
solar printed gas puddles show
reversals of dying/dead gods,
still twisting shadows in lacuna rooms,
(i have known the shelter
of these sniffing dogs...)
brittle broken ice,
brittle notions in the brittle head.

unreal notion,
thought breath steps
the sneeze
unreal.

"godspeed"
all these things make up what is kept with you
yet are not you
and yet
here you are.