Sunday, August 22, 2010

In place of people, dance/ with scarves

The Wind blew out my voice/ At first she couldn’t hear me
In the past I sucked it in, heard her whisperask, well, does it smell broken

An orchard of bird prints in sand, erased/That place I laid mermaid,

hip-down-casted in grains/ Shared apple, bread with feathered wilds
Wet, cold, naked

(Inching closer, she saw/she sees)

The spill/ My constant foxtrot down shore—a way

In place of people, I dance with scarves I said, the stars will come soon, call for us/ They call us the wishers: we, their dusted selves

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