You’re gliding on ice that’s sprouting
Flowers like the freckled mountaintops down south
But you haven’t noticed the red that’s started to cover
Spreading on the bottom of your plate
If you did this with fire maybe you’d still be alive
But this is a new kind of electricity angled towards you
Like the stroke of a brush that whistles
Something that sounds like letters
And open doors at the end of mile long pathways
You are an exit route not a fire escape
Does your mother know why you keep empty water bottles
On the desk by the back door and not the one by your bed
Swearing that you are sinking into tides that keep you afloat
I saw the run rise in your eyes once
The yellow and green awoke something in your smile
And a streetlight’s glow burned out
Coated in silver, immersed in purple petals
Yet the plastic stuck in your throat
Is lodged between adventure and fear
And you don’t want to jump