We are the night-things with yellow eyes,
skin sprouting feathers and scales.
We wait for ourselves with umbrellas;
we are impossibilities of loneliness.
We are that which calls to itself,
we are our own breath,
unrecorded but repeating.
We are cold wind over water.
Every evergreen means life eternal,
every rock welds us to history,
every flame is an alchemy,
every creek purifies, like it or not,
every handful of dirt is human-clay,
there are omens in guts and tea leaves,
and we are living beyond ourselves,
we are opening our yellow eyes.
Tucker Lieberman is the author of Painting Dragons, Bad Fire, and Flip the Finger at Despair. His poems have recently appeared in Asses of Parnassus, Déraciné, Esthetic Apostle, Neologism, Oddball, Prometheus Dreaming, and Rockvale Review. His fiction, essays, and photography are also published widely. He lives in Bogotá, Colombia. www.tuckerlieberman.com Twitter: @tuckerlieberman
Artwork: Alexandra Khitrova, Mandrake root.