-for L.C.
I see you, a speck
amidst other specks
in white sand. I only
know it’s you, by
the barbs of your
feathered halo. You
conduct the mild breeze
in your tent covered
with dust. You move
answers through the hair
of the people who kneel
with you. There, buried
under eons of broken-down
mountains you exhume a
smooth, marine fur.
You dress yourself
up in yourself and
lower the horizon
with your hands.
Me, I see in a forever
of ground-covering
vines. Orange and yellow,
fluted and netted fruit.
And while I dream
of black and blue-feathered,
unidentified birds, you
blow through
my yard, and my hair
stands on end. I see
that the skin, (that I swore
was someone else’s), tucked
between the pages of
black books, starts
to feel like home.