Fireweed, and your other flowers and seeds

Living only in primes, I ask for your theory
of numbers. You should expect exponentials
to look like this. That is, they start small.
They may start as trespassers the way you did.
Sometimes they come as the flora of fireweed,
sometimes a fern or in the seeds of a pinecone.
One morning when I woke, I thought
I was falling apart. Reinforcing what I thought
I saw, you said you saw it too. Just beyond
the window ghosts like fractal patterns like clouds
like a deep sigh in lungs, pass through the fence.
The stars outside are moving at a velocity higher
than expected, though my coil stays constant.
We used to keep a shotgun by the back door,
but only to shoo away the animals trying to steal
from the garden. When accidentally hit they curl up
like a golden spiral like a fetus. You say there are no
equations for ghosts. You say I have absorbed
energy from wild animals. I know you are tired
of my loneliness tired of my walls encrusted in salt.
 
 
 
Stephanie Bryant Anderson is author of Monozygotic | Codependent (The Blue Hour Press, 2015). Recent or forthcoming publications include Vinyl, burntdistrict, Tinderbox Poetry Journal and The Blueshift Journal. Besides poetry she enjoys kickboxing and math. Stephanie is founder of Red Paint Hill Publishing.