When the blackberries hang br swollen in the woods, in the brambles br nobody owns, I spend br br all day among the high br branches, reaching br my ripped arms, thinking br br of nothing, cramming br the black honey of summer br into my mouth; all day my body br br accepts what it is. In the dark br creeks that run by there is br this thick paw of my life darting among br br the black bells, the leaves; there is br this happy tongue.