Sympathetic Fallacy

a poem about being human

my bones not branches,
my blood not sap,
my eyes not water held by rocks, 
showing the stars themselves.

my fingers not vines,
my skin not soil,
my sweat not the rain that falls straight down
and leaves the glass dirty.

but the rose is a warm and songful creature
behind my ribs,

but the mica in granite is a flash
of my teeth announcing a smile,

and the wind that broke the tallest tree behind
your house is my prayer:

remember
that you are

lavender, and I am a lady bird.

you are lightning, and I am the growl that follows.

and we are eternally ending
so that we can start again.