Line to be sewn into a skirt hem held in my mouth ever since the unraveling Line beneath a bridge for years without hope I stretched my arms into the river searching for you Line to be sent to the cornfield history is a hallway of leaves. Line written for electric wires your voice
Prayer from a Mouse
Dimensionless One, can you hear me? Me with the moon ears, caught in ice branches? Beneath the sky’s long house, beneath the old snake tree, I pray to see even a fragment of you— whiskers ticking a deserted street, a staircase leading to the balcony of your collarbone. Beloved King of Stars, I cannot contain my animal movements. For you I stay like a mountain. For you I stay like a straight pin. But in the end, the body leaves us its empty building. Midnight petulant as a root cellar. Wasps crawling in sleeves. I sleep with my tail over my face, enflamed. Oh Great Cataloguer of Snow Leaves, I pray that you may appear and carry every piece of my fur in your hands.