it's late...

remember when you were new?

if you were to kneel and spread your eyes

then the moon would come down--to rest between them

surely--the wind carried words

your ears could not hear

spoken in the groping language of your skin

and you read with your nose

winter coming in the mountains and

the light on the pavement, that cracked

that crumbled long before your tongue was born

--surely the bamboo hissing

was closer to you than your blood

and your blood hissing, echoed

the great fizzing roll of the streets

and struck it clean, like voices on stone

surely--surely, you yourself were

a dusty ikon, sharp as the hills

and flung out like the fronds

snapping, in the breeze

and the dusk gathered, and rose

not the dark falling

and sitting so heavy

surely--once you could

sprawl across the night

easy--

rather than clutching yourself

hunched over with the shadow falling

over your shoulders,

and your neck bared

surely you will swing the world

around your shoulders again

and walk

with it swinging around your legs

with it lapping at your feet

surely--surely

you will be sprung open

the echo in your ribs again