He looks on the level of the ground
and level of the sky
and says you only see these two arrows
because there's black in your forearms
when you lift them to your forehead
to hold your eyes
your legs feel the right & left wing pointing up through
your feet, and the right & left wing feel the north sky
your chest felt the shooting star
all the shadow from the top of the dream
the lengthy golden cream from a filled bucket
the back of your neck feels the whole sky
instead of your face, and your arms outstretched
instead of the truth that you crave the sky
instead a lie that your bones in your arms
must point to the ground
must crawl like a stupid fattened caterpillar
who eats and eats all the life
collecting in and out of the daydream
for that cloud, not the face
yet it's the face that is leading the morning meal
not the very top of the distant distant distant clearest shape of a heavenly sway
it's the feet I have swallowing the arrows
it's when I live in the dim shadows of the sky instead of them pouring all at once
it's not the bottom or the top that I am supposed to only see
it's the east and the west, the width, wide, not the north, the south, the extremes
and it's what's inside me
the arrow that I feel the most
and it is not just the blue above my head
and not the brown below my feet
it is my arms
which are friends with size and width
arrowing out instead of too low and high
bending long from the shut chest
knowing peace
and being my skin that I feel my heart like water
speaking the truth that my legs are the things that hold the words of my dreams up by reinforcement
and my eyes look up with the wings of my neck
opening to the fight
and my arms open my chest despite the dark grey and blue colors in breathing space
my arms usually crossed in an X on my chest because it is so extremely hard
to hope
to leave the closed rooms and mental paths
to not cry about reality
yet the doors are thinner than my books
of dreams and emotions during dreaming
and my arms though so heavy have always been
creating, thin as the air, on the floor
painting uncrossed in the world or crossed in my mind
every color between black and white spreading, spreading my roots in the ground