song of the stomata

by Lorelei Bacht

this dream is skinned in soil. the story
grows itself: texture, composition
in numbers large and small.

in a few days, this animal will bloom
an eden of larvae, iridescent beetles,
bluebottle maggots rounding multitudes

of mouths.

everything beautiful, that plays a part.

every word spelled
by this embodiment, every gold leaf
re-read, re-told, decided into re-newal.

in their next chance, your eyes
will be: river, pebbles, mayfly.

every being a concatenation.

we call our beginnings: humus.
and must wait to return to its cool

forgiveness. we are how the earth tells
itself: the vertical ascent of grass
blades in the sun. the microscopic mouths

that sing, that sing.

---

Lorelei Bacht successfully escaped grey skies and red buses to live and write somewhere in the monsoon forest. Their recent writing has appeared and/or is forthcoming in After the Pause, Barrelhouse, The Bitchin' Kitsch, SWWIM, The Inflectionist Review, Sinking City, Door is a Jar, and elsewhere. They are also on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer and on Twitter @bachtlorelei.