Silver Tunnels // Cynthia West

poem5.
Silver Tunnels
Cynthia West

When I planted
the heavenly blue morning glories
in a pot outside my window
     I dreamed of mouths spiraling open
     translucent
     in late evening light. I slid
     through their lips in tunnels that led
     to the rising moon.

Although I don't have the maps
to those silver throats,
     the holes ripped in my skin by tears
     show me the way.

Warm and wet under straw mulch,
     the seeds germinate.
     Sprinkling them often, I watch
     for the first heart-shaped leaves.

I nail strings to the roof, tie them to poles.
     The vines reach up, forming a ladder
     I climb into the eye of the night.