names faces traces places

the laces of shoes she said I couldn't walk a mile in

but my feet are fins that should slice tides like skin

but they're rocks chipping

ticking clocks documenting inception

redemption and the vain conclusions you beat to and beyond the grave

from ivory frames crushed in the dark room they rise

as flies bursting into the focus of the microscope's lens broadening past

the horizon of a single winged back