I realize I can walk miles backward
not once glancing over the shoulder.
Let fatigue rest in the intersections of limbs
there will always be someone to spread
ash for the plants, turn soil with bone meal.
I run out of fingers to count the ones that fell
remembrance jagged with spikes of pain –
each three parts water one part air.
Thoughts are the matter I cannot grasp
hence I drown in the depths of the ocean
where the slop is churned every hundred years
to a speck on a leaf that floats to the bay
into the jade-colored estuary at the lip of the land.
Sand sifts through webs of interlaced fingers
flounces as dreams a clear shade of blue
the mornings always misty on the glass.
I can feel the temperature of all things
the love crusted like glazed pot, lightning
that singes the grass clumps in the yard
knots in the breasts with hardened milk.
What I covet grows wings, breaks free
flies to the dark cavern to hang feet up
for nine months and grow flesh, muscles
in the womb deposited with memories
from three landscapes – the river town
the city by the sea, the crowded metropolis.