Don’t move. Don’t move at all. let me do this.
Tomorrow you can wheel your bones along the edge
of time’s illustrious curves. Next week you can make
your deliveries, manhandle your offerings, perform
your acts of contrition. Mold your vessel. Drop
your footsteps like fireflies into the void.
But now, notice your torso in flames.
The sunlight from the east rises at your thighs and cuts
the eyes from your face. Your legs lie like shadows
on the bottom of a forest, keeping their collected
secrets, burying their swollen names. I’ll touch
your legs. Don’t move. I’ll slide up your skin
like a slow boat fights an iron current.
I’ll navigate toward light, my fingertips burning
in the new world, and capsize
in the hottest part of you.
Can you hold the sunken treasure - garlands of rubies
choking your worded thoughts? Can you hold up?
Can you fight? Can you fight the urge to run?