streaming

ancient dig just below a
thin surface.
primitive uplift,
looks like ice from a distance.

glass breaking slowly,
a travelling weakness.
a crack that lengthens,
indiscerned from day, to
perfect day,
imperfect focus.

a splinted bone, a shattered
language. those who speak
it no longer feel the splinters
cross their tongues, no longer
notice schrapnel spinning off
each word.

broken by degree - each degree
alone, not so important.

solitude's release - fist opened off
a sparrow's ankle. wings frozen mid
flight. calm -- calm settles
just past panic's shoulder - heaven
is gone. wing frozen open in
outdated response.

i track my breath's ancestors through
older, stifled breezes --
through storms
that fell
against themselves
and let the garden's
hold in peace.

sovereign shadows sent like
stained sun's -
static shadow remaining from
a form you washed away.

shape.

recast me.

move my skin like dark, beneath clouds,
cross geography.
adjust with your fingers, refine with
your fists, thought brought down
to reconfigure whims conjured
at the drop
of my name
- i am changed.

the constants - the places i trace.
ritual's burrow.
someone else's habit
lingering on the tip
of my finger.
an itch, that's only relief
is through touch.
the number of words
in a sentence,
the number of
letters, the number, the
symbol, the ragged advantage in
counting, as if
being led to some destination
-- some place of import.

a white expanse of morning,
swaying with just forgotten
dreams and brows, empty
as blank pages.

on my side, my back feels long
and hollow - a large sky spread
between every bone. i need
someone pressed against
to hold it all in place.

a barrier to hold, withheld,
a flood of touch, a witness
to a woman's intimacy allowed
and treated as if he weren't
even there.

awareness.

focused.
to a pin prick
point and spreading.
for now, heaven spilled the stars
and look - they stayed right
where they are while pouring out
from my heart
like a hub
through my blood
to the tips
of my toes.