Believer

Mushrooms — photo, my own

Decay wraps its beauteous gift, gently
twisting orange auricles with oracles to listen.

Thumpings of what came before, locked
energy gushes forth in straight lines
that sword their way through me.

Teaching me secrets of a solitary wind,
how to decode her vapid promises, her squalls
of animus, and which to believe
when all that’s left is the slightest huff
of listless breeze.

How one prays to a star-dimpled sky,
how to count only the passing of each fall leaf
that drops another message back in the bottle,
and how to stop wishing
for enough soul exchange
for a return voyage.