Christy Lee Barnes

IN FULL SUN

I flush, bolt, I flower.

l shrub, go feral, lose language,
manners, memory
of snow. Unfold, unfurl, invert.

More, more of this:

this lidless sky and every
blade beneath me
reaching, ready.

It is baked in me, this heat.
My bones
proliferate: old breaks
seal strong again like a stop-motion
miracle. They sing

the strength
of earliest summers, that sun
like a hand on a back,
heavy, safe.

Heavy too
the weight of our leaving,
of all we now know of winter.