from Another Sky
Holy objects multiply. A child’s tooth
amethyst. Ancient sources to peer through—
a watch, blue sage, faded polaroid.
I sweat a lot when I look for words
violent and tangible, what we call real.
Looking at what can be seen to absorb what can’t.
My nerves are frayed obligations. My hand
grips membrane wilderness. Like a flag
on a beachhead in winter. Like frozen
edges of river slicing muddy banks.
I’ve had enough of easy celebration.
Sky like a giant’s belly. Cruel tension
shoulders uneven and in muscular knots.
My memories are tangled up in things.
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