You send me raging, writhing, walking
down a godly corridor
and three steps in, I pause—
I once was wont to prize the blades
of grass, those razors
slit and stained my feet;
now no green and wounding knives to tread.
The wings and song of robins cannot enter
through the too-thick walls of white;
no scorching rays, no kissing wind,
no earth engraved beneath my nails.
Nothing moves but I through time.
You offer comfort from a gloved hand—no
skin-on-skin, no danger.
“Don’t be afraid, the path is laid. The way
is clean and safe.”
But I know clean. A still-furled leaf,
an open shell, the rain, the heat.
The planet’s veins still bring pure blood;
you sterilize and name it life.
