freshly baked earth

the earth is fresh, it rises past the moon, fervently shakes off the rain and smiles, shading my eyes i can see a single silent bird as he shoots up into the sun like a rubber band....as high as i've ever been has never been too high to reach up when the sky is warm...

the most crisp memory i have is of dreaming on the cement, nose down eyes closed to draw in that hot baking smell, gravel texture on my forehead, hundreds of tiny points stabbing staccato pains up and down my body as my weight pulls me down to earth...and i want to press harder, i want to punch through to the center, to the hot boiling center of the earth, where no one can find me... no one except a cool drink of water knight, and he would raise my head to breathe ice through my hair....and like a river we would lift ourselves through the rock and dirt, rising easy like smoke into the fresh fresh air, into the moon tinted evening...