There must be something very beautiful in my body,
I am so happy. —James Wright
Standing in the street, the sun’s rain
glimmers in my pores. This winter,
I step with waltzing leaves
crisped and curled like dead brown wasps.
My feet ring in my shoes,
something springing under the concrete
with unseen fossils of ferns
as roots’ black snake-tongues
flicker at my toes.
Cars hum beside me.
The drivers don’t know they are in the world.
Earth twirls through darkness,
hidden stars prickling my skin
and the skin of blind moles who sing alone
content with the bloat of their bellies,
sparrows dinning throaty bells above.
I’m no different; my body becomes a poem.
Those strange tangents people dance with,
money and success, are swallowed
by grubs bulbous as fingers,
slick grass glazed by snails
and soft forces stronger than myself.
Squirrels lap up air.
Their rapid prints burst the last snowflake.
I can’t stop laughing.
Why am I alive?
Eric Fisher Stone is a poet from Fort Worth, Texas, where he graduated from Texas Christian University and works at a PetSmart. He has been published most recently in Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Blue Collar Review, and Quantum Poetry Magazine. He has also written a novel titled The Country of Innocence.