Come to me
in the stillness
of a pine’s hard eye

Come in the pricking
of narrow brambles
of sap on skin

My body
is the private throat of Earth
the wet russet leaves of thirst

Bring me the claw
the wild thaw
of deep-seeded soil

across bare red rock
raw mountains in my hands

I touch you
Unearth you

Rivers flow
to the curve of your tongue

Sedimentary fossils
rock flowers
pattern layers of our skin

Eons shift—

Stung wet
we glow

Lisa Alletson

Lisa Alletson grew up in South Africa and the UK, and now lives in Canada. Her poetic imagery draws on geographic and cultural features from all three lands. She has poetry forthcoming or published in New Ohio Review, The Lumiere Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, SilverBirch Press, Bangalore Review, Beyond Words, Osmosis Press and by the League of Canadian Poets- Poetry Pause. She writes daily on Twitter at @lotustongue.