196
lacy light, so much glow to show through branches branching out. like little finger lakes, channels on mars, patterns of frost or neurons. it’s all mathematical, we suppose, geometry refracting, reflecting a new science broken into binary bits. we travel through time back and forth easily now. we fly from place to place. all the winter witnesses stand knee deep in snow and in ecuador nothing changes. skin changes temperature with each passing illness, coughed up calendars cut to shapes, cut to fit. hand holds and head locks, hard hills and hemlock. not for poison, just for color. the way we color in between lines, taught as children how to rhyme. what makes a word hurt? what makes a moment something you might miss when the fevers die down? all this is its own bliss. something you can eat, swallow and remember. untimely living has strung us out, the car won’t start, the closets have no doors and plenty of skeletons. our jaws once wired, once broken by dentists to correct the overbite. rebuilt right, cosmetically. our caves plundered by night blooming jasmine and tiny thiefs. carnivorous plants like well behaved pets are ingesting the rest.
