the cracks are just

shower steam and

sips of juices and the intake

of crinkling air and the

first cries of daylight’s drops

the opening is fluid, driving into the open mists,

deeper into the scalds, the trickles and

the bend of the toes into dove soap and plaster

heat into the veins, soaked in by leather

palms and the curling hairs, the day runs about the ankles

flitting in the breaking light, into the ease down the stairwells and

the stretching cords, the calmness

in the shuffle of feet, a broil

in the first inhale of the waiting moments

time is stalking—

poaching from the weariness and the dead feet

of skyscrapers,

eating the grass

drinking the sunshine, and


on the slim bodies

[artwork by Takato Yamamoto]


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