This is the way we sweep the sinking sadness of water.
It’s hard being out of tweak
still calling you by a different name you can’t exchange
These fights for something other than marzipan fruit
have made me into a box actor,
speak lines with many mouth shapes.
Let us (you and I)
slip into the edges of the husk and curl together as mealworms might.
There is room enough for Raisla
and the breadmaker
and the midwife as well.
Take the crooked fingers and straighten the veins into
highways and landing strips.
This is the way we watch the sun spots invade our face parts.
This is the way we crawl beneath our fingernails.
This is how I throw you into the white circles of my blood.