Body, body.
Take into account light.
Falling closer to mist, feather
wait becomes wait becomes
wait. The jelly in each pocket
of spine brews ancient songcraft
for swimming, so in water you
stay with air as it allows, like
wings against gust. I wish for a place
like this for all of us. For Isabel, Charisse,
the other names. Return to cinder.
Abuse and obey. We're faster
than symphony, in torture saying things like
pelican, gingersnap just so tongue
slithers around mouth like a wand
brewing spells.