Upon A Star

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,

Jump!

Fling your body!

Little do I know of the iron bracelets

hugging my tapered ankles.

 

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