cresent & crescending, the fingernail trails a line along faces
until it reaches a hole where i’ve been hiding
rested & wrestling, i crawl towards a light that i know is ours
the second full moon of our cycle : be thee thankful for days
blueish but not blue : tinkering on a willow branch : it’s sky
like my father’s eye : or is it my brother’s : Capricorn rising :
the thread of a sweater of a surgery of a birth
if i could only fit my fat head through the tunnel . then .
i could be life.
earthen it rolls : sparks a fire if dry : enough, that’s blasphemy : swishing
hair like fish fins or dangling drapery : it’s a strand of my mother : is it is me :
the Virgo wig binding : bound me to a brown i’ve never been before
if i could yell out a name . it . she . we .
could be night.