in this dark womb, it could be the center or it could be the skirt.
still glass case, nowhere else could work.
it pulled me back here.
meanwhile,
water from the forests falls into the air,
i feel it in my ancient throat.
i’m suspended.
rebirth.
bark peels, falls into wind like dead skin.
i am nothing.
slower.
i can hear again.
it doesn’t mean a thing
nor does it
not,
but
there is space.
hair blows slower like a heart.
heart catches in a slow web.
new nothing.
walk around the lake
don’t speak,
don’t even
see.