In Praise Of Shape Shifters

 

who know how to speak to the corn

who court the sturdy roots of the Bermuda grass

whose eye can catch the drifting of the plates

and weep at the melting of the ice.

 

Praise be to she who plays all 12 strings

and neglects not the humble ones

 

And when you’re no longer comfortable

in your own skin

don’t hesitate to molt

and be another

Have no fear of exposing the tender layer

to the wind of day

for no growth comes without ripples

no advance without stumble.

 

From “Avatars in the Borderlands” unpublished manuscript