The jungle-fronded and scented tiger lilies.
hyacinth, frosted ferns,
stone pines slung low on granite steppes
the mists in moist symphony
with the mountain’s sheen:
a someone, a man
from its womb,
from its womb,
treads softly and smiles
upwards and inside, rainbows cascading from his lips white clouds blue clouds velvet clouds
mingle in his hands.
mingle in his hands.
The carapace of wounds and scars
lifted and flown to the stars
reveal
his soft and fearfully strong skin,
eleven caskets of faith
(string -tied, packed and outward-bound)
and
the frantic smiles that live and beckon
from behind his eyes
a someone, a man
has come.
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