With the grace of a train whistle,
he blew through
my station.

There was no schedule.
I never left the platform.

My dreams of flight
drifted on smoke
far, far away.

It was like being part
of a pair of birds,
one of two,
mated,
matching glide for glide
along cool currents
in a blazing sky.

It was quiet
like a breath
that sounds giant
only in your own ears.

Hunting down a tune
through halls not quite dark,
but long and narrow-
like walking into a straw-
anyone could see
I was bared

looking for melodious moonlight

There was no harmony of touch,
only a soft drumming
like maybe my blood
wanting to move
toward freedom

After a shimmy
(or three)
and a scream
into a blazing sunset,
she broke something
within-
something that held her
in check
for too long.

She found a song
falling from her lips;
it was woven
of raptors and prey,
cracked shells,
clouds and wind.

Asking nicely
if you’d tell me
before you turned into a demon-
for some reason,
this room smells of doughnuts-
and the color of the gift box
reminds me
of the luxury tanning oil
I tried in high school
(before the myth of ozone).
I smelled of butter
and tasted of boardwalk in summer.
I still taste of taffy
but please don’t eat me
in full daylight.
Wait until dark
when we all change
and what matters seems less of earth
and more of a sparkly unrest.
I like when fatigue is earned.