There is peace
in this
vessel: a
cradle between the
teeth of this
sea, a language
in the soil, a wrist
waiting in some far-off,
unmolested
light for my fingered
shadow &
the salve of a
returned palm.
I'm not a god the way the
iris is, the orb of a sunlit
grape, the
mince of salt-
I am not though I am
reborn, my web
woven in lurid reds
and whites, a column
sand-bleached,
a lotus wrinkled
with heat.
Now in
the broken
Breathe In/Breathe Out
pink bloodied
wings crash down
there is nothing above you
hollow rib-cage breath in
see earth
as sea blue oval
gasps for air
as bullet in
your child heart
a feather
light when you breathe
dust collects
firm grip
clinched fist
joy every pore
in dream
dull white and gleaning
in my sleep
i can float
be invisible
would be perfection
to the sky
would be perfection
but
when
I
wake
no matter
slept through all of it
chaotic septicemia
everyone heard the gunshot
couldn't reach their cry
it'll seem the bullet was meant to be
glade of my
skull a river murmurs
mother tongue and a baldfaced
woman stands
naked against the
grass less edge,
breathing only
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