throw me through the sweaters' blinking.
dynamite took the mountain's heart out
& now she culls the roof tops with
her long fingers. i have been stolen & lost.
stood in the archway & thought, "is this enough
to hold the two edges of the world together?"
winter is too cold & not nearly cold enough.
i want to be a statue. a cloud. the way
her thumb & forefinger would work, slipping
a button into its burrow. we were all voles.
hid from the owls catastrophe eyes. we told stories
of belonging. of perfect fits. walnut & skeleton.