HelloThis Hunger is Vines of Green

A poem

James Deagle
Write Under the Moon


close up of the muzzle of a brown and black leopard
Photo by Dustin Humes on Unsplash (detail)

Late evening eyes, heavy with routine,
and a mind looking to break the ropes
tying it down.

I’m holding out for the
faintest signs of life,
new beings waiting to be born,
molecules longing to combine
and form new tissue.

I am waiting for a radio wave
to cut through the static.
My ears are straining to hear
what new melodies
my instrument will play.

This hunger is vines of green,
conquering my psyche
one wall at a time,
and can never be cleared away.

I long to be intercepted
by leopard-woven dreams,
to see this night through
animal eyes.