instead, you are shut out of your own house

                              what do you say of skies incapable of holding rain

what do you see in your palms besides lines leading into oblivion

              you carry a rotten dream in your mouth                       your wounded mouth

is someone’s resting place            what do you say about fishes dying in polluted rivers?

what do you say of sun buried beneath clouds of years & years or of your father’s pictures

hid in the cupboard & between old clothes                   what do you say of dreams where silt 

disperses through your gathered palms         of prayers tending to unhealing wounds

               of sunrises bending to paint hues into a kind of resurrection

you pretend that you are dreaming of cities where there are flower gardens & bees

& children laughing like rivers turning tides over rocks             & that your body is 

not the next rhythm after the prelude to fire                               & that your closed mouth is 

not a closed-door                          that your still hand is not the bird’s clipped wings

               instead, you are screaming wolf inside a lamb body you are building a tower 

of prayers & knocking on God’s window        & chewing hope with your dismembered teeth

               you are mourning your body from your bamboo chair              cursing the flies gathering

a family on your nose       tightening & loosening a fist in your mind                     wishing life into your hands