in relief, a pig remains

harbinger—bowstring flexed, archer—of your fractal becoming

in saltwind, in geometry

of butterfly wings, in marsh grass that

momentarily bends

under the weight of a strayed,

winter wren.

‍ ‍

a flight, crowned with red,

the crane, throws her sorrow,

or is it grief, on the edge

of dusk. sound swept

to silence, self diverges, light regains form in distant,

celestial bodies.

wrest touch from body,

salt to salt, dust to dust,

to wind,

palimpsest of knowing, beyond reach.

i’d like to think,

that in lacunae,

a constellation, bursts.

saltair parts your whisper

into silver into shoal of fish,

making glint and glimmer

in water.

i’d like to think

that from the stardust minerals

of your eyes,

a murmuration took flight,

wove veils of black, shifting lace

into something like

the impossible weight of night,

vaulted sky.

photons, in our cells—continue to radiate light,

around what is no longer visible—correspondence between ground and sky.

threadsuns cast copper

into waves crash

warmth into sea lavender

rhizomes stability into soil

slips, silting water.

of what remains, a blue heron tilts

her flight,

wingtips

cut glass surface,

morning, ripples out.

and in blossoming quiet,

being

dissipates,

grasping wind

by its wrists.