orchard

i grew my face like a winesap.
pruned the feathers
from my hair. walked until
i found the planet
where all of our teeth 
are waiting in the dirt 
for us to be born. i was 
an adult blossom. i was a fruiting story.
i walk between the lines
of baby doll heads. arsenic seeds
that dazzle & wink. i have swallowed
enough forecasts to be
the harbinger. i wear gloves 
when i pluck a soul 
from its knot. they are always
inky & stain anything they touch.
brushing fur. soothing
our little beasts. do not worry
there will be other bodies.
a man will come to the tree 
& speak its language. wearing 
a moon on our head. wade into
water fountains. we each have
just one tree. the souls that come
every year no matter the frost
or the fire. they will have 
as much color as you need.
an octopus poet. a courier eagle. 
pocket knife in the throat
of our heavens. this is 
the returning phantom. do not say 
you have never been to paradise.