Lindsay Seeley

A MOUTHFUL OF RAINWATER IS A BATH FOR WARBLERS

The whites of my eyes
turn amber with sap

The solemn heads of morels
rise from my shoulders as earthly epaulets

Sparrows pull the twigs from my hair to
build warm and dirty nests

Mice scamper inside my hollow trunk to
make room between my ribs

Lichen spread across my back in
intricate moldy ruffles

Hushed breezes through tree boughs
whisper peaceful sermons on both being and not

A brown spider has spun a web in the cup of my ear
and tucked herself in, sleeping.