A Day

You move like slow water,
and from your throat
crack naked gasps
as you fall asleep.

In my dream, I walk
rows of thoughts
dragging a rake.

Air sharp and thick
with the sound of my voice
as I awake.

Birds on currents and eggs,
asses and legs,
all with a song for fresh, cold morning.

Heavy, steady sun
swings a leg up,
will float.

Breathing lightens
with every movement.

The bones lean together,
a shelter.
Rented all day.

The whole sky floats,
and water is water.

While I’m away,
you’re away.
A couple of boomerangs.

The sun trips and
lands on its hands–
a good sunset
on its face.

Everything not covered
in leaves you have
covered in cloth.

You taught me
stirring up the potions.

When we talk, it is
as if someone’s
cracked open the wind.

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