specific heat//Hal Y. Zhang

In the forest are thoughts

of every color, every sentiment.

Surging through veins, beneath

the soft decaying loam a cage

sun to sink, chittering overripe

fruit fit to burst rhemy capillaries.

This broadleaf: fall now, weep later.

The snouted critter: I seek the sweet meat.

Light caressing greedy stomata: just breathe.

The eye in the tree, dreaming of release:

      Time and laughter.

      Honey there, I need—

I need.

Hal Y. Zhang talks to machines during the day and herself at night. She writes it down at halyzhang.com.