Inside the glass jar

While buried in softness the connection to home disappears

The colors have sharpened their edges
In the edges of my vision
My eagle eyes eager for a way out of the fog
The jam jar, red with sticky numbness
I have buried my hands inside
Lost feeling, lost connection, lost home
Somewhere far away I hear the wind
cut the trees in halves
And stack them up for the next winter
And the next and the next?
The forest floor is burned to nothingness
Narcissus is sitting there, in the middle of the commotion
Human hands reaching for the reflected light
Frozen to death by his pond
Carved to the forest floor
Digging, never reaching
The light of truth
Before:
They tied me down to the surgical table
White clean cut sharp edges sticky red jam and the howling wind
My friends are all gathered there outside the glass, inside
My eyes keep searching
They pull out joints and bone marrow and
something soft, bitter mush burning through me
Burning down ligaments, burning down flashes of home