Between the prickling bushes,

a dark tangle.

​

Then:

unintelligible chattering behind the ear,

hushed clicking above the tongue.

The concaves of us, untouching yet charring,

The taste of passing years,

like warm streams adjacent.

​

Back outside our classrooms, my palms were covered in salt.

Tender windowpanes, the daylight sly.

We counted how many more birds could possibly break their necks (again).

​

Footprints swallowing,

the tides do not recognize our call.

Some mornings, I wake up with my wrists lost.

My crying was a fractured bird,

wet under the moon.

​

(2021)