sudden waterfall

slit topaz throat of a new telephone.
i am trying to catch the blood 
as it becomes birds: doves & owls 
& dragons. this is how my soil
tells me i am static television thinking
of a life where we both live inside
the same terrarium in the windowsill 
of a gentle angel. where you could kiss me.
where we could grow alien flowers 
& sleep under wet stones. i am 
the landline's last scream. joy  
coming yellow & white in the form 
of a fresh fire. burning all the ruins 
& pretending there was never
a city in my mouth. call me a mayor 
of redactions. i was not on the cliff
last year praying to the old god. 
i am a sweet lavender crocus mother
& every day sheds a window. instead,
i am here with my doors open. i am here
as a herald. when you come i have 
a garland made of bells. i have 
my heart full of non-venmous snakes.
the telephone lines have been just for show
for decades now. they are black licorice.
i pass my days eating them. hear murmurs
of ancient conversations. "do they love me?"
"do they love me?" the not-wires sing.
i say, "they do" & i do not sleep.
put the morning sun in a cast iron pan
& fry it like an egg.