The Outsider Poem by Victoria Hunter

The less I speak
when I am pushed to fall skinless
into the brooding sunbeam
My bright voice falls spiritless
on its tongue
the skirt of it tears and tears
and seems unsure of its reflection
It seems to rise upinto the suns mouth
and turn thereto a muffled sigh
Slowlyit begins to purposelylet itself go
you see nothing of the air
can seem to stroke it
without breaking it upwardand away
and rightwhen it's just about ready
to lose its sensitivity to the salty wind
it sees your face as salvation
the heart of it burst open
it sees the groundas a giant god
like fresh dirt
it meets the ground gladly
and gladly and gladly