self-taught, i wrapped the certain thinness
around each of my fingers. tethered them
to cement trees. pretended to walk the dog.
the dog was a compost pile. the dog was electric
& out of batteries. piano knocked on our door
one afternoon escaped from a junk cathedral.
haunted with fingers it needed to be taken apart.
my father worked while i watched. the plyers had long
become moths so he used a knife & fork.
snipped each note from the creature's chest
until we werre no longer in danger of hearing a song.
i stole the wires though when he was gone.
drug them to the behind yard where feral cats
had made a graveyard. there i took to binding.
rock to arm. leg to leg. we could be
so close. a knot. i wanted to be tied to you.
to another someone. feel them breathe & bend.
wires left red halos across my skin.
i am holier than the horizon line & maybe even
more godly than gold. i glint like CDs in sunlight.
take the wire & stitch clouds together.
suture wounds in the ground where hell peers through.
i'm not afraid of death. a ghost once told me
"it's less of a bang & more of a dwindling."
i always feel that happening so maybe it is
all the same sensation. i think of
helixes & galaxies then i imagine wiring
a few together. a garden of staircases.
another piano gallops on its way to the ocean.
it will probably not reach the ocean.
i open my box of wire. draw out a single thread
& step out into the morning eager to find
a loosened face or a nestling to link back to nest.
the dog is still unusable. i nudge him
with my shoe & go on my way.