i woke as a gasp made by dawn. seashells on my pillow, trued
to my face in silhouette along with a broken guitar
string, some paper cones, an oily feather ... an
un-struck match - the scent of sulfur
and forest floors pouring
through my loose fists; rising from my shoulders.

dreams of him again.
waking mid-way through a whisper leaning in
to hear its own quiet word: a name just beneath
my breath; flash-fading image just behind
my shuttered eyelids. light's fond recollection
of itself. look again. we were the sound made
by shadow slipping off the sun, wandering past
having lost its way, as a child sometimes
follows the wrong pant leg.

flush against my lucid homecoming,
one window; its light shattered with the trace
of a branch ~ a single hand raised
amidst this crowd made stiff by impotent longing
to express a feeling; crucial and singular.
a feeling woven through idle shapes
and lingering tenderness but benumbed and lost
beneath swarms of callouses, thick as bark.