Weightless

Let’s pretend we don’t exist
beyond our cellophane tissue
and the thrumming of our minds--
grand clocks winding
down the solstice stair.
Let’s pretend the blank roar
rushing stones at the still glass
is froth, breaking on the fathom surface
and breezing so far away.
Let’s pretend each breath
lifts a sheaf of soot
from our almost-skin
until flashlight beams
shine between our ribs,
casting floorboard shadows
on the wall behind.