i. Sometimes, the apartment stairwell. Hallways laid bare for miles. A woman presses her palm to the floor in gold light. Feels for pulses, comes up empty every time. Someone listens to phone static, thumbs a bruise. Always too much on either end. The burn & pulse of the tongue. My mouth as wide as this room & just as empty.
ii. You walk into my dreams in marrow light. I see a sky froth and quaking & children skating on a frozen pond. I stand alone & you walk past me and the scene repeats. You leave and take the snowy hills with you, bruise the rims of my eyes, leave me to watch you crashing your sled and maybe I say something, maybe I don’t blink. Maybe it was always my body splayed over the ice, blood spilling, palms sacrificing themselves to the sky.