Bury me in words,
a sarcophagus of sentences,
a deluge of dialogue,
to nourish my decomposition,
to nurture my restless creation.
Feed me the images
that startled my soul,
sunset skimming sky scars,
that free-flowing form
that precedes solidity.
Those tendrils breathe my breath,
the atmosphere inhales me.
Cooled by the distant
canvas of night,
my shimmering coals,
my blackened flames.
The room between the floorboards
hasn't a key,
only neatly laid passageways,
saturated in empty space.
I have two floor plans
that co-exist,
blueprints for the same space,
though I always ask,
how can one place be two?
Amidst Zach's lost spoons
and Georgia's grasshopper jar
I place this small piece of the puzzle -
small but substantial.
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