There’s an anchor

w.n.

There’s an anchor

chained at the top of my skull

Hanging to my hips

It’s pulling my alignment down

Melting wax down my body’s candle

My mind is aflame

The garden grew brown from

Mother nature's breath

smoking a cigarette out her window

So I went out in my raw feet and an unwinding sweater

A chipped vase of gray water in my palms

And kneeled to bow my head to what was lost

A lilyturf stem kissed my forehead  

As I looked up

The garden was aflame 

I sat on my dull knees and watched

the crackle of the last beautiful home

have no chance to see the sun again

As I felt wax melt from my eyes