Weary As Water
The sound
the sky makes
as clouds overtake the sun
makes me
want to leave my body.
Be weary in this.
Allow the water to soak your fingers until you can no longer grip the mug of warm tea.
Cranberry sage. Then everything is colder, right
here the rook
moat yourself.
Scream into the paper bag.
Let's pretend to be pangolins.
Break our skin
plate the bone
until we roll like cinnamon.
Let's be cream and just as weary.
Light,
from star to starship.
Resist the impulse to build a city on rock and roll.
Fingers are less prune, more drum head, they hold things. Again they feel.
Dandelion seeds
must
have a name beyond pinwheels.
The sky is a seed bank
endlessly emptying
the body.
The body.
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