Beige and Bay


Arched, trough-like and hollowed out
Concaved, the body made empty as a gourd
resembling a dream,
surreal.
Precious and precarious come from the same root
Rooted, borderline comfort. 
Pressed against the ache of the tongue,
swallowed and ambiguous.
Floating in a swell of jellyfish thoughts,
transparent, assailable.
An open wound, exposed.
Smoke out now all your tricks with mirrors,
delusions of power
weak as a kitten, newly born,
in a constant state of becoming.
Beige and bay in sunlight streams on an attic floor
with big open blue veins and clammy eyes.
And you thought you had it all figured out. 
Holding on to red-tailed hawks and blackberries, 
you haven’t seen a thing yet. 
And you cannot see the gift yet, 
you cannot see,
the gift,
yet. 

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