prize open
the core and its
crisp and the
blood is rich
and you remember,
and sew yourself
back together.

sometimes you
forget that your
real, that you come
alive at the seams,

that your lungs
spread themselves
out like wings,
and take in the
wind that cradles
your frame as
you sit under
the tree in the
dancing rain,
reminding yourself
that you have a
name.