Flip through your Rolodex of days
and tell me which you remember best.
I could tell you of these days most vivid,
but they are so near to my heart I don’t want them to
dissipate like the last gasp of steam from a pipe.
I could tell you what my bones are made of
but it wouldn’t matter much since you can’t feel them.
They wake me in the night, as restless as horses before a storm.
The morning sighs a turquoise dialogue
and I lose myself in this distance,
gladly.
Heart as eager as my feet, pulsing forward and faster
until my hair becomes tangled and tucked under my ribs.
*[They are made of lost seams, mulled carbon, memory, and flight.]
-ct
Time breathes shallowly
for mutual convenience.
Roots dead before rain.
–ct
