from

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