Bright Dead Things

Say we never get to see it: bright
future, stuck like a bum star, never
coming close, never dazzling.

we’re small and
flawed, but I want to be
who I am, going where
I’m going, all over again.

I want to be something entirely without words.

Oh let us be
a bird flying wholly for the sake
of flying

Then, I think of you, home

the maker and fix my problems
with prayer and property

Kill the kid stuff,
start to act my numbers, set fire
to the clutter and creep below
the radar like an escaped canine
sneaking along the fence line

What if I stop remembering? What if here’s where I want to keep it? Here’s my permanent puncture, here’s my unstoppable ink

I love the keeping of it, the wanting to keep it, but maybe not on my body

Just countable days ago