(I was running, once)

deepground (septentrions seemed to circle at my feet)
grey sky and lodestar lights at twilight
to plead to me; can't you see
that quiet space at the back of the room
where the scenery unfolds in a slow scream:

she threw those dinner parties
rising champagne and second rate caviar
it always reminds me of the day I saw a dog die,
lay down to the calling road
and I dreamt again just last night
of skimming slim below moons in mitosis,
of when we were wolves.

you and I
(strung out on a high pitched line)
I always think of
you and I together with rain,
northern forests and a sad song
the kind that brings you down
but you love it anyway. "repeat that one"
twice, maybe again.

the boreal windclime chimes of breaking crystal
and all the glass underfoot was once leaves,
though the hardened marks pad the same print.
(transitioned my skin from hunter to prey)
I know you saw something, an idea of crimson
fletched in the greying blue of my eyes
and startled slips of yellow.

what is history to bodies
consumed with present tense,
presentation.
the stars by whose long light I ran
already combusted to sharded rocks
a million years before they reached us
and we thought to guide our steps by their astral circles.