floating and leaving no trace
this is a window
but you think
you are outside
i pull you back
until you see
the frame
the sill
the sudden reflection
of light on glass
your own ghost
like pigment transferred to acetate
marbled, colorful, but hardly there
a film’s second exposure
and through that the world
you think you see
with your eyes
i am sewn into a beaver pelt
and set adrift in the river
i hear the rocks split the water
though only darkness feeds my
starving sense of sight’s appetite
i feel them drag along my back
these jagged river stones
not yet worn down, splitting the water
though only darkness feeds my
starving sense of sight’s appetite
no longer enough air to breathe
the stench of game hide and water fills my lungs
bruised, i flail, splitting the water
though finally darkness satiates my
starving sense of sight’s appetite
——
Words and Feathers 