#Right next to that one cicada one by Hosho McCreesh

[solazu1]

A poem on realization of identity

by Keaton St. James

Boy wakes in a field of poppies with a newborn star wriggling like a live goldfish inside his mouth.

Boy breathes in the hot wet summer air, the cicada wingbeats, deersongs. He can feel the star push-

ing at his closed lips to escape. Boy exhales slow, looks up at the pink-stained clouds, then swallows.

(In nine months the Angel of Truth will bloom inside his stomach.)