the earth is deep and eyes are wind chimes in these days when the wind touches people like phantom limbs.
shapes of rifles or limbs appear like heads on sticks
hands break out in salt and sweat like dead sea scrolls and calfskin
skies are black like the first day of creation
your mottled painting of soft fists blooming leaves cloth hands are shadows of unlit candles
they illuminate death in an eyelid
they can’t taste
the light of G-d
how it entered the earth
soaked through it
unable to find a way out.
shapes of rifles or limbs appear like heads on sticks
hands break out in salt and sweat like dead sea scrolls and calfskin
skies are black like the first day of creation
your mottled painting of soft fists blooming leaves cloth hands are shadows of unlit candles
they illuminate death in an eyelid
they can’t taste
the light of G-d
how it entered the earth
soaked through it
unable to find a way out.