Disappearing in the Panhandle

That spring day I yearned for solitude, wandered from the campground,
perched on the trunk of a downed tree, and lost myself

Plants absorbed me, drank me with their viscous green tongues
my limbs knotted, twisted into ascending spirals of vines
my cypress knuckles clutched black waters
where white ibises dragged their slim stalks of legs

Soil sweated upwards toward the blue glaze
as all returned to the origin of water
my hair, greying Spanish moss, hung in damp tendrils,
brushing the warm carpet of pine needles

Through a broken puzzle of leaves, sunlight searched and tagged my skin
my flesh decayed softly to reddish peat, peeling off in chunks of bark
a continuo of insects rubbed their thighs feverishly, swelled and pulsed
my blood throbbing with the jungle’s wet murmur

Loblollies wept thick tears of amber sap
while the panther’s tongue flickered between my lips
my moist bones went limp and crumbled
herons pierced me with ancient croaks

My heart turned inside out, flapped its swallowtail wings
something laughed at the thought of myself
my mind burst into pieces, and all that was left
was hot, shimmering joy of green