A return.

Will this pass?
frozen bird in the earth,
you flew from your entrapment and circled,
returned, never by yourself but always alone,
roots of wisdom upturned and sowed,
a whispering on the tongue,
a story passed down, a longing
for something that has since passed:
little bird, what of this?
some say that there is an endless moment
when life is defined by a single touch
I've never felt it, though it molded me
in my dreams, I float and never fly.
endlessness of the earth,
I curled sweet cursive against
the breath of your love,
I tried to be the bird but I was always grounded,
earth-bound, tilled, aerated, irrigated
Wait!
Once, I made it to your ends
and tried to bring your edges up,
carve script into you but I could not catch you,
you were always that way to me.
Wait! Wait!
How could I know
that I loved a thing that flew:
catch the next wind, wing higher
take a part of me to that lighter
place, where the thinnest air
is a viscous movement
against my skin, angel or ghost
or nothing at all.

purple mornings,
awake with the haze of a dream,
my stomach rejects your red hell.
at least
being unwell is better than
being nothing to you.

Day 5: A Memory

there used to be a goose
that hung around the neighborhood.
The thought drifted across me
the other night,
a purple bruise, blooming matter-of-factly
across dimly lit memories.
He couldn't fly, I think
every time I passed him by
he was alone.
I wonder if he could feel the concavity of the heart
as I do in this moment, the memory of him
a vein running deep through my consciousness-
I wish I could disappear like him, feel a certain peace,
tranquil like the lazy twilight
or a bird's wing, hanging limply.

Day 4: For You

your eyes open,
tranquil like the lazy twilight
peeking into our most secret places.
If only peace was forever
a mess curly hair, wet skin
as you step from the shower.
On these nights, with your fears
cracked wide open,
a sickly child staring through your eyes
I cannot help but love you more.

Day 3: Questions

dolls with torn seams
and tiny reminders pushing relentlessly
against the broken rails of circular thought.
I've sewn the wrong ends together
and can't rip them apart.
the pedal is pressed down, steadfast
quicker and quicker,
everything quakes dimly beneath me.
Is it a monster lurking under my bed
or something else entirely?
I have not grown much farther from here,
this place, this heart, and yet
with throbbing delicacy
the caterpillar weaves his fortress.

Day 2: Alone at Home

split strands of molecular information
made you?
footsteps on a path to nowhere, anywhere
made me.
I've been trying to absorb your smell
in the fabric of my clothing, but
I feel nothing
so
I spread my legs
and shut my eyes
and press your memory
too close to my body.

Day 1: On Last Night's Depressive Episode

how many days have I spent
staring out the window
in the dark,
that peculiar spread of branches
stabbing at the air?
they expand in my chest cavity,
hardening, ripping arteries,
and yet I spill no blood.
I wonder how so much pain
cannot cause death unto itself
I breathe it, living cruelly
inside the blank.