the room in moonlight

the room in moonlight.   a room.   like water is.

I remember place just slightly more than space.

        am I inside the room, or

        is the room all made of me?   these legs.

        these arms.   this head.   this chest.   my heart.

I’d say I remember.   the light.   the moon outside.
I remember the shadows.   I remember shapes.

what’s staying in place.   anyone moving here?

was that the cat, kinda three-quarters worth?
oh, floors that couldn’t be more amber bright.

have I been here before this night?   but no, not alone.

an easy nest to adore.   a door half of glass.

am I a stranger here?   I don’t want to be.

are these grooves beneath the furniture?

here a scratch.   was that me?

because these scratches, therefore I am.

image: tti    #

my home altar

a friend, she showed me hers.   now, I’m showing you mine.   tokens.
nothing more.   if there be any magic, it’s in me, not these allegories.

my tokens are heart lungs muscles fingers toes, even those.   capitalization,
think I lost that one.   words, really, where do those originate?   not me,
not me, said the rabbit.   cousin Alice, is that you?

my friend, I think she also had a snake.   he stayed in his box, and me in mine.
not so fond of snakes.   although that one in the garden, I had to laugh.   no
hiding that recognition.   true friends are hard to find.

wings to get over the tricky parts.   three flames to illuminate the way.

a wooden bowl that was once on fire in the hills west of me.

          I’m ready.


some wings aren’t feathers, but leaves instead.

some wings drink from roots, not three toes.

some wings hold hands, finger limb to limb,
smiling into the taste behind your lips.

some wings beckon the wind to themselves
although the sentiment is mutual.

some wings remember your face, you who
swam in their autumn change of grace.

did you thirst for their brittle scattering
tresses at your feet?  they do notice that.

how our feet land in the sky does matter,
how your voice takes theirs inside.

some wings hold very still as earth
soars on past their steadfast gaze.

leaves are kin when water is blood.

world keeps listening and flying in.
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