Molt

Did your wings get heavy with the rain?
Did you toss the morning dew back to the air?
When did it start to burn?

Though the morning sunrise curled your hair,
The silence of two thousand sunsets left you
Sheared
Shivering
Until you couldn’t stand to hug yourself anymore.

Your rags are little more than a veil,
Yet they chewed through the fiber of your skin
Biting
Binding
Until you became inseparable.

At some point you have to realize what’s going on.
Is it slow? Do you even have time to look down and stop yourse—
Calm down


and breathe.

Feel the future pelt your neck.
Feel the present fill your lungs.
Feel the past ride up your throat.

Take one last step into the edgeless expanse.
And fly.
Even though you can’t feel it.

Listen.
Listen to your wings quiver in the storm.

I wake up in the dark
To sand in my mouth and the sound of a million limping limbs
Scales brushing against my belly and the nape of my neck
A careless kick sends me back to sleep

I pry my eyes apart.
Something is different. Something reveals endless echoes of arms and legs.
White.         Sunlight            Ripping through the darkness.
And even though it hurts—makes my stomach curl up and my eyes drip till they’re dry
I can’t feel it.
But the sand burns until

I blink

And hear the shore drown beneath the tide.

I blink

And hear feathers clamber to the sand.

I blink

And hear eyes watch the world shake.

They blink.

And I move.

Waves toss light along my shell as they curl into themselves
Begging me to sprint
Beckoning me to dance with them
I’m just learning to crawl, though

I’m just learning how tempting it is to stop
Because I’m safe

But they can pin my legs.
They can snap my neck.
They can drag me through the sand.

You extend your hand to me

I look to my left.
No one’s here.

I look to my right.
No one’s here.

I can’t look behind me, so I look ahead.
I can’t look beyond you, so I look at you.

Is it about aesthetics?
Is it about tastes and smells and sights and sounds and textures?
I think it’s about silence.


Or something like it.

Something mundane.
Like Frost on the window pane.
          


Or something personal.


Looking up from your reflection at another peering face
And tripping
over their eyes
And smiling and still smiling

I say “sorry” to you.
Feel sorry for you.
Keep saying sorry to me / Until I can remove myself from the moment.

Tangible-intangible heat on my lap
Please tell me it’s the chattering of your teeth
Or nails clawing denim

Is this for me or for you?
For now I’ve already let go.
But I can’t store every habit.
Like counting the steps outside.
Like bleaching your hair white—
Not trying anything at all.

I missed you.
But I won’t miss you.
Your charge hangs in the air.

Don’t miss me.


You won’t miss me.

I’ll still be standing there.

I knew the place for seven years.

I knew how the sun skipped past where the grass gnawed at the pavement
How it flowed through the valley to the north.
I followed the stream both ways
East to fantastic villages
West to borders that would disappear
And climbed into manmade mouths.

I knew every shade of almond, honey, and red velvet
How they slid along the boughs of the evergreens.
I bathed in their perfume again and again
The burning of sap
The mingling of dust.

I knew how the buildings shivered in the night.
Because fields of coyote dens lay between the nerves and the heart.
I knew they would be fine if no one tucked them in for bed.
Because headlights murmured like the sunset as they fell asleep.


Halfway through the seventh year
It snowed for the second time.


I walked out to white plains.

And turned to cold, black windows--
Nets to catch the midday sun.

And ignored the howling--
The gray veil that sheared away the city and the streets.

I thought I was alone.

I thought I was alone.
Because the sun’s footfalls were smothered by the wind.

I thought I heard the yearning of the mountains
And I let their moans guide me back to sleep.