Don’t Worry Father

Sometimes I wear
a mountain for a body,
ridge backed
belly to earth
watching.
On loose days
I confuse my grasses with my hair,
mix my birds in sun and deep.
Don’t worry Father
I’m not crazy, just flexible.
After all,
there is that cave
where the always of me lives,
eating the old dead dances
sometimes
singing them new again.

Monday Nite Poetry Workshop
English 222