Sometimes, a little always
There are no axes, no chainsaws yet I
Was born in a lumber world; too cut
Off to know the names of the trees that dot
The lake, too lived under the highway's shade
To know if the canopy shrinks come autumn.
I am too tall for the canopy, I
Break the firmament when I stand proper,
Look, a piece of heaven on that child's face,
In the fire within the lamp, mixed throughout
The black soil bearing BT cotton rows
But Janus looks two ways, there is a flipped
Heaven in the white soot coat on nameless
Trees, in those clouds which did not rain before
The farmer's funeral and that is how
I go to sleep; dream a world with name tags.
~Ajay
24/2/19
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