Dust-swallowing dust, I am,
Dew, a drop. Covet the thorn
That split in half
The water-bead into the black berry.
No one taught me how to darken me
But me—my tooth
The berry as the berry told me: bite
The wood-world, half-eaten, dark. I am
What more? A drop, a dew. For one
The yew to bend in half its height—
To drink, and hold
With my hand the yew-tree down.
Hold the yew-tree down. Accuse: Do you see—
For one drop—
What you’ve become? A slave, a splinter
In the thumb—
My ripe thumb. A splinter answers:
I am one solution to thirst.
I walked into the woods and found
The woods walking
Demanding proof. I have a thorn inside
My thumb as fact the thumb exists.
A thorn is
Echo of the tree. I heard, I thought
Myself asking—the splinter not
Me—myself asking the splinter for release.