I gather up the hills
and call to tell you about it
hoping to hear the telephone in your voice
tap against your teeth, smear the ashes
of your lips on my mouth…
Dusting each breath for someone else’s
fingerprints while clouds lung the sky—
a world healing in heaves, I hang up
with just enough light for shadows,
as if they need sun…
Without it they’re just plants with skin for soil.
Here, one flowers from mine across the room.
Her drinking a glass of water helps me breathe…
We’re all bridges under crossing kisses,
our throats the crumbling supports
when we finally remember the number
and no one answers…
Your darkest pulse runs the love from my skin
with lips that unwind toward the motion of sleep…
I can hear commas seeping between your teeth…
Too far away to exist, we touch almost like knives—
this helps to heal the ghosts of oceans
we hear and want to believe in…
This is just a simple mechanism—I leave the room
without time to return while predicting memories…
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