In Praise Of Shape Shifters
who know how to speak to the corn
who court the sturdy roots of the Bermuda grass
whose eye can catch the drifting of the plates
and weep at the melting of the ice.
Praise be to she who plays all 12 strings
and neglects not the humble ones
And when you’re no longer comfortable
in your own skin
don’t hesitate to molt
and be another
Have no fear of exposing the tender layer
to the wind of day
for no growth comes without ripples
no advance without stumble.
From “Avatars in the Borderlands” unpublished manuscript