I want to sift through nested clumps of old earth
as though swimming in a waterhole
with my body as the till,
overturning the ancient weeds, decaying crumbs,
and tiny yelps of fragile, fierce wishes.
Wishes to spring hastily over
to the other side of earth’s deep fissure,
where the cords that anxiously wrap around my
deep-seated organs and outermost nerves
and disjointed speech
are straightened, organized, and distant
from my foreign face.
For I know not what I look like.
So the telescope finds my eye
and the wishes dissonantly
pound in my unfamiliar head,
Fling your body!
Little do I know of the iron bracelets
hugging my tapered ankles.