Every night; an emergency.
the last resort wraps around you
as a beach engorged with moonlight,
deep wound of shells, splits like a road.
soft, pink feet.
Rabbit hole
Shifting languid, in the room next to the other,
soft outlet of air dusts the evaporating mortar
and tiny light darts through holes in ebbing concrete
landing and laying on thick saliva.
rubble, that lays like a human form,
in the bed I slept in, what must have been a thousand
I know the sheets will be filled, and filled, and filled with
the sand from untold beaches.
Is that the light from far away fire?
Is that light of carbanized bamboo?
Is that light that peaks over mountain tops?
how could any light penetrate the stones that make my home
underground?
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