After the rain, the eucalyptus
trees are so fragrant. My cilia
sway like kelp
as I lay my face
against impressionist bark breathing
alone last night on the peak,
I imagine the lit up city
is an enormous, bioluminescent
butterfly quivering in death, lovely
on the fallen leaf of the valley, the sky
a bridge between worlds. Back home,
early morning,
a friend leaves a dead snake on my doorstep,
baby diamondback, dehydrated--
a perfect, infinite loop:
that murder of crows cawing
a blueblack requiem above
the bloodred blooming of the pomegranates.
Davka lives and writes in her Ford Econoline Cargo Van parked somewhere in the world, probably in the deserts of Arizona and Southern California. Her work has been featured in make/shift, The New Yinzer, Weave Magazine, HipMama, $pread, and more. She blogs here.