it took a cutting of my skin by a mouthful of teeth–
from two places [it came]
fixed margin by margin;
hold cities under breast
neither could swallow
it
like the daffodils; rising their heads in late winter
bursts with colour when they grow tired &
hungry for something simpler-
a hum that sings from nowhere
the heavens between two mountains
a wave brushing sand; dancing to something forgotten
the thing between two shades of blue on the vista
exilic-
i was
i reeked of grief & my mothers incense
a bag of bones painted over fleshy pink
they collected me with bits of burnt paper
a gun; an eye gold-plated that looked upwards
a flag i would use to rest my head in prayer
the story in my voice said: a well that is never emptied
you are-
like wood rubbing wood; fruit under pulse;
charcoal film in the eyes of god following
a trail honeyed by sweet
