I'm taking up the pearls of cloth one more time. <br />I'm doing it without any losses, for a change. <br />I'm starting with the cloth of cilantro, <br />starting with the stain of it on my fingers, <br />the ripe smell of its unfurled part <br />moistening the edges of my nails. <br />I need the most mute processes now, <br />I need the pile of dirt that does not glow <br />with anything. <br />I'm starting with the fragrant underground, <br />and the sucked-out skin of the green rims <br />that dropped off there. <br />I take up the young cilantro so much like pearl <br />where the pearl is floral, and so much like leaf <br />where the leaf is secreted within <br />my human cells. You can keep your garden. <br />I take up the branch that lives in two atmospheres, <br />and I let it do with me what it wants.<br /><br />Doren Robbins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cloth-of-cilantro/
