Wicked air wrapped itself in licking white and

sculpted a strange shape.

Lips breathed new life into lake-spat husks imprinted on leafy shores;

iceberg spheres shelled irises like pearls and March thumped the grip from lungs.

Moths folded as hands over rings.

The moon ate the sun.

A blind man bends over his creation, gasping as Sunday's blinking

morning hammers home.

And the doorbell didn't work, so, like a paper moon,

the new sun grew for hours

on the nape of your neck. With bellies out, sun dial bodies

threw stars and cast puddles.

Cast glances. Bits of apple turned to ash,

spat themselves into the wind and were peeled

by hands shedding hearts. Fists choked reins

of ponytails, tendrils snapping and knees

scraping pavements. Windows

and headlights stole moons,

stole money.

I am the well-known fairytale

that sings a girl to sleep at night.

I am the creak of the bedroom door

that gives a baby boy a fright.

I am the chug of the choo choo train,

and the moaning creatures in the hold.

I am the Red Sea's snapping jaws,

fly traps as they shudder closed.

I am the belch of the creeping gas

that slips unscathed through savage barbs.

I am the little orphaned child, the tallest

tower and the harm.

I am the Belsen bones, broken,

and cast askew like stepping stones.

I am the one who tucks you in,

in dreams of photographs at home.

I am the drooling moon at dusk,

the furnaces are mirrored here.

I am the mound of unworn rings

that spark and sell and glint with tears. 

I am the bloom of starkest dark

as stars and stripes distance from dawn.

I am the man who buries his son

in the earth of the oven as if stillborn.

cupped hands create a hemisphere,

spilling sand,

caught,

then lost

a colosseum dribbles cous cous

that grits in nooks

the egg

timer

doesn't listen to your clicks

time is a scrap

on a

chip

as unreal as software or

winking sunlight

I held

your

hand with an open palm, shimmering

like waves

on the

radio