Shaping Shadows


I rinse you out
as candlewax,
dripping like
weeds from trees,
withering away
like aeging conversations
on the oak table,
where we were first born
as dying animal mouths.




I see the ripples you create

when you breathe on the

surface of the sun,

the blanched morning’s

levitating heartbeats.

Guess the thing you can’t name.

The two legged animal your tongue wears

is my castle on Sappho’s paper boat.

My fingers, the

quill of divisible dust on indivisible paper.

A leaf collides with my throat

and settles there,quivering

with my lost breath.