composition

Again it is the language
Of quiet, of bones
Sinew and skin
Moving into the space
Of quickening light
And ethereal shadow.

Explore the shadow
Of the unspoken word—language
Inflates beneath light
And sinks into bones
A narrow hollow space
Covered by skin.

Think of skin:
Surfaces fill with shadows
That expand the space
Between silence and language
Tongues and bones
Catch the light

How eerie the light
Glimmers wan on your skin
Wrapped around flesh. Your bones
Cast no shadow.
You fall into language’s
Lost promises, the interstitial space

The blank space
Of too much light
Where there should be language
To cover naked skin
As encroaching shadows
Caress jutting bones.

Pages fill with bones
Carving through space
Creating long shadows
That erase the light
Your smooth skin
Stained with lost language.

Broken language heals like bones
Immobilized beneath skin. You space
Yourself slight between light and shadow.

unfinished

In this dying light
I want to tell
You a story
With no
Beginning middle
Or end.

At the end
Of the day pink light
Infuses the middle
Of the room. You tell
Me no
One tells you stories.

Tonight, a bedtime story
Will end
The evening. No
Words, only light
Can speak, tell
You there is no middle

Or beginning. In the middle
Of the night, a story
Emerges untold
So that its ending
Eludes the light
Answers no

To every question, no
Exceptions. The middle
Of a moment fills with light
Silently composes a story
Inside the body, the ending
Begins in fingertips, tells

The narrative once, retells
It again and again, no
Break in the unending
Line, beginning middle
Melody. The story
Spoken in layers of light

Light beneath skin tells
One broken story in breathless no’s
Leaves out both the middle and the end.