In the color of
forgotten organs,
deep mottled tissues, I find
a world diseased in
joy
in only seeing the edge
of things, I climb up
winter through fall,
planning
the tracks I have yet to make
in yielding snows
my gray body sings
even though its
skin is sloughed into
the sky
I am a dappled season,
the fragrance of rot
firmly loved, utterly welcomed
for its shameless ability
to change
My organs are hidden
in laughing caverns
wearing their colors as though they were crows
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