these shapes of things we thought of
when wet and swampy from birthing
imprint on us bossily--love or neglect
the effects of hurt and genius and dirt
yet it feels like power--this waking up
making ourselves anew for each day
remembering how you would catch me
when I spilled over like a careless drink
now spent things colored big and blue
as bruises have swollen shut the doors
to all the places we've ever left behind
so in our minds, we recount loss all day
say: can you hear me--1, 2, 3; I, 2, 3--?
faraway and wingless, yet needing to be
we sift sight and experience: for our eyes
see forts while our hands feel for forests
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