to untangle these things

sit me down in a field
where the grey clouds turn
and sway and I will show
you my calloused fingers
my internal bruising


you will swear that my skin is the colour
of wheat at harvest and
I will crawl into your lap
construct a desensitized version
of our past
buzz in a harmonic vision

you say staying would be worthless
because it soon will go to black.
the bats will challenge the sky line
with their radar and I will run into the woods
to flee

at first chance.


-

all I can do is shake out my stringy curls
into the warmth of this day
say,


the sun will forever bob
and clear the trees and you will always find me
held as close as rain.

so do not waste my time waiting in the city

we may forget the vocabulary of
this place.