Bed of dahlias

the arctic teeth of autumn
are munching on my skin,
but my hands are cupped
around sunshine
from this summer's dream

a useful body on a useful path
to braid together leaves
and gently carve the sky
out of a plant-
I feel a wicked sense of pride
in the way purple fingers
fervently create
lies

I fed life and quickened death
by spreading the ashes
of a forgotten storm
on a bed of dahlias
with palms praying
towards the sunset

my tigers are smaller
and my jungle is less thick,
but this air feels pure
while it's crawling into my lungs
and cleansing my wounds
to a sleeping sun's
pink

I'm alive and I can numbly feel