Sara Eliza Johnson

Here’s a lesson: If you leave a hole in the forest, / leave a mouth open in pain, astonishment or grief, / something will come to fill it

Some mornings, I come to on the floor, / my neck burned with moon tracks

Out here, I’m lonely enough to open / my body for anyone that finds me

Sometimes it’s seaweed in your throat you can’t cough out / or an ink cloud expanding in your skull

At night in the field, I felt the curvature of a palpable
time around me, felt the dark
foam of the waveform rise and collapse

When my body blew open
the shadow-glass cloud
galloped through me, glittered

The anemone of your dream blooms
inside the vacuum of space.
In your pocket of black wind