the passing of pax romana

she sits in her space and feels a stirring,

much like the wind, much like a calling

to another place not yet

known, not yet her own:

her fingers buzz with forbidden

magic; her mind moves mountains.

the invisible warrings

of love write themselves

quietly on the back-side

of her heart-quilt, sewn in

tight like jewels, like journals

coming alive on the inside linings

of her organs, playing out

their orange chicanery.

just outside the monastery

of her own making, she

gazes at her mother repeatedly

riding in on the tide, her spirit

slipping into her shell sides;

she holds the best close

to her core and lets

the rest follow back

with the moon.

tiny & full

on my way to flying school,

late as usual,

taking the lady liberty boat

since i just missed my bus.

 

i was up all night,

dreaming of teeth

falling out and digging in

to chase me;

 

of cruising over

bridges and swimming

under cities

(naked, of course);

 

of moving through non-time —

a star for a pocket-watch,

a string of white moons ’round

my wrist: tiny & full.