Four-Point Constellation

The driving hallucinatory fields,
Wheat, sun, arching sweating skies,
Grey-white, the aftermaths
The flowering balms cast like stars in inky loam,
And prophecies tangled and gathered with stones.

From the brink, tilting with your arms wide
your toes curling
remember your ancestors, and thousands of trees
The vines around your neck and through your body
Berries in cells, snowed-over-skin
The baking happenstance and cactus-spines

From the brink, tilting with your arms behind
The wind is in your hair like a sudden memory
Eyes open, crashing into waves
Crash and sink, absorbed into the belly of the thoughtless sands

Like a spiderweb through sounds, trembling
In dreams and on the backs of my eyes, a name rests.

Machines mimicking stars in a night sky
As dark as the expanses of earth below
Grip like a bird and fly through the weight of a mountain
Empower your bones and lift with your strength like a mountain

Lantern-veil beating with amber-red light
A will'o'wisp in the smothering sleep-fog
An ocean of ripples and obsidian, ashen shoreline
To drown is to inhale the amniotic fluid.