Lexi Burt


On the forest floor, we inhale
Moss spores into the dura

Mater of our swollen brains
So when the sun sets we look

Like caught nocturnal animals
Neon green-glowing eyeshine

In our gaze, no way of knowing
Who we are or where we are from.

Lying here, we exist in the one
Space thoughts can absorb through

Networks more knowing than our
Eighty-six billion neurons, combined.

Gnarled arms are all around to hold us.
We are still not silent, but we are closing

In on an almost. In the absence
Of noise, we can hear heart-

Beats in synch, still racing
From before the leaves broke our fall.

It has always been here, a soft
We cannot escape. It grows between

Shattered cement and next to black
Block letters someone painted to spell

Humanity. It’s kept contained
on the shelves of babied begonias

Behind your desk, but creates
Oxygen easing your breath as you mother

Their roots into soil and forget
What someone said was supposed to come

Next. Remember to see
The evergreen in our irises and stop

To lie in the forest. Its light
still comes when ours falls to sleep.

link to video 

Lexi Burt (she/her) is a senior at The University of Utah studying English. Her work has been published in Prose Nouveau, The Canticle, and Voices Rising. She currently resides in Salt Lake City, Utah.