I tell you
you are the sea
You tell me
I am a spring
in New York
I am man-made
woman maid
construction site
cut like ham
served to slaves
You are chimney
smoke
burning oak
soaking in ash
I flash you
a smile like
a yearning
match
You smile like
leaves in the
cold
shaking with
hope
Holding on
to your tree
You
stop me
from singing
my bird song
all along,
I’ve been:
a burn
on your thigh
or your hip
a slip of the
tongue
or maybe
the lips
You could be
window
but your
curtains are
always closed
or drawn
like a child’s
crayon art
I could be
bike
broken on the
road
or like
the bones
protecting
the heart
Please believe me
as I pray
to the dogs
that I may turn
into the spaces
in between
your lungs