there is a calmness at the top of a mountain–
the sweet sugar dew doesn’t
in of itself have a taste but somehow
the temperature makes it seem that way

there is a ruby mixture in the coldness
of the winter
on the snow
on the silver
cutting through a violent white

but i pretend it’s ink. i tell
you it’s ink so you don’t
ask any more questions

just look at me, dear
look at the folds in my
fingertips and know that
i am real

i am skin and bone
flesh and blood
fire and water
i am whatever
you need me to be