blackened, wizened, deep-based thing
the late light scratches scarlet grooves
in to the trunk
and there are ancient reservoirs
of fingernails
and secret human stories
and the wind
is a blind carpenter
and the turning earth
an eraser
and the sky the skin of an eye
blinking away
civilisations
and centuries
like grit
after the rains came, & there was no me and you your face became a perfect guess which once I only knew, & other skin became a haunting thing, & every dream an echo in the hollow light of what it migh
i am a strange shape a coalescence of water and word at the crossroads of chance and history my heart is ten thousand years old and my skin is new paper to wrap old thoughts in now i unparcel them the
i was perched on an arch of air floating in lakes of cloud shadow over the stitch scarred skin of earth, mottled with shrub studded with stone oaxaca just beneath the surface is some truth that can on