is the gasp and the catch of ten thousand mouths singing wordless as they come up for air
is the burn of brine and the salt that streams and streams in the lungs afterwards
is a muddy hem and the sleeve of what once was a tree or a door that opens the chest
is the buoy or the bell or the shape of the coast or the bodice of a church folded at the seams
is the thread of a voice that left its hungry tongue at the door of the ear
is the staircase spiraling down to the floor of the sea where the ghost of a ship explores
is the room in the school where people sleep under blankets of powdered chalk
is chicken coop wire unrolled like a carpet in the plaza where statues have been bent
is red and red and brown and red and blue and sheets of lime in the open grave
is the scar that climbs the trellis to rest on the cheek of the moon