on accident i re-open
a finger wound,
weeping blood out
that dries in exquisite flakes;
in drifts of cherry-blossom blood petals
& sinusfuls of ache
with bare branches
with my hands in my head in my hands,
split in 2 covering more at a cost
my friend leans in &
whispers "they are not trees,
they are the lungs of the earth
sprouting out-ward"
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