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 only be touched
from far away
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 carpente
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