There's a tornado swarming beneath my sleeves
that rises in the distance.
The movement, twists from the vines.
Slumping up edges, hiding away the rain beneath the shine
formed on freshly grown evergreen.
I have built a space, but it is a tornado
ripping loose.
Hang onto your boots.
Don't let them get stuck in the black marsh.
Pieces of me like dolomite
amplified by self inclusions
Tornadoes from my resting,
no longer sleep; exploding into this space of morning.
Traveling with the missing,
forever in search of the living pieces.
Rocks picked up in distant meadows
A garden of heart shapes
and bony outcrops.
Wildflowers hardening on our dashboards.
© -Sonja J. Johnston 19-Apr-2014
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