i am only sand
in the clam's mouth: the uncollected
strain of a whisper tickling the
tongue. small (but growing) marcher across
the piano keys: tiptoes bending every
eyelash down to slink under the
lid. blow out the note: blink each
bow away, blink into REM sleep, quick
as hummingbird wings the deep
dream that is drifting with half-open
lips between the surface and the
surface (my hibernation as i become
a pearl). my bones are not notched with
a count of candles; i think i am the soft
earth that was underneath the cracked
earth that was eroded away. i am rising in
my smooth skin, silky with the rain that
seeped into me. close enough to touch
the ember-encrusted wick of Saharan
mornings—the sleep runs between
my face and the stains of the bloody
clay above. i am waiting to become
glass: colored and rough and
spiraling over my contours where the
lightning bites down but now
i am only sand.