The mosquitoes lay their eggs
Inside my open mouth. I am still
As I stare at the white sun.
My garden melts around me.
In the heat I become a stone angel,
Dead leaves pooling in the crook
Where my wings break through skin.
I have seen seasons and none
Have shown me enough beauty
To ever be satisfied. So instead
I become the mother of so much
Suffering. Look at all I can give:
These thousand unformed wings
Inside my throat are bound to rise
In the damp afternoon and scavenge
For blood. And there is so much
On this fertile soil to freely take.