My life atrophied in pursuit
of perfect music.
I floated downriver, bodiless,
without money or home.
Only the wind echoed in my mouth,
beautiful and impersonal.
People remember the legend
but the details disappear 
like the landscapes of night.
Flowers are meaningless without roots,
but the roots are never gathered 
or painted.
We neglect the earth
in the mathematics of myth.

©

Seth Jani lives in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress (www.sevencirclepress.com). Their work has appeared in The American Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, The Comstock Review, Rust+Moth and Pretty Owl Poetry, among others. Their full-length collection, Night Fable, was published by FutureCycle Press in 2018. Visit them at www.sethjani.com.