Gardens written by ilex fenusova at



written by: ilex fenusova



last night I threw my skin

against a tall mirror

to find my features against the wait and the glass.

nothing here; move along,

move along.

from my back rose a large scarlet bird of paradise,

from my feet between sinew and muscle

crept small poppies that stained where I walked.

I was in full bloom.

I crept into bed, curled small as a spore,

and the fabric was soaked within an instant;

bright with the red wood moss of my body.

I have kept you aloft so long, my dear,

with my breath

that I have forgotten that this air is mine, not ours.

how could I have known then?

that small shared gust stirred frail, rust leaves

that both of us admired.

you don’t know the names of the four winds

but I will call to them for you now

as I curl up tighter in my bed-garden,

as I watch you fall deep into that roiling sea.

I am so sorry this happened. move along,

move along.

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