on finding burls

Sometimes, I want my universe to be small
and comforting, wrapped around my like a serape
or an acrylic hoodie, safe and comfortable
and warm.

Even if, were it set on fire,
it would melt and run and stick to my flesh.
and sink in, and burn.

Other times, I like to see my universe writ large
on someone else's paper--large spaces between the atoms
my pencil scratching out a rhythm
on the desolate blank whiteness of it all.

Even then, were it set on fire,
it would flame unexpectedly into ash,
dry up and blow away on the next spring wind.

Sometimes, my mind wanders
and I am a small girl among redwoods, safe
in the embrace of damp caves carved
by old fire into older trunks
leaning against the wood, smelling smoke and char
and the woody smell of a scar growing over
at the speed of glaciers.

Let me stay inside my redwood a while longer
and think about the spaces time has carved in me
and the way the gaps creep slowly closed.

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