a twist in the darkness unknots itself, thick and muscular
the light hits his eyes and they turn amber, pupils like
full eclipses. he elicits emotion from an indifferent moon.
quickening beat beneath bone. close the way a bird
feeds from a dropper because it knows nothing else.
he sinks his teeth into the soft bellies of stars and drags
them down into the sea, where the extinguishment
creates a billow of steam that lifts up my dress. we
eat carcasses of light, obscured in endless night.
it was something we didn’t want to see. the faces
of our younger selves, dead and floating. we thought
we could shed the past with molting tongues, leave
exoskeletons of our former lives poised and frozen
on tree branches. but the evidence was everywhere.
every rivulet of water reflected our sponge-blood
brains, near-severed hands curled inwards as if
to touch ourselves. but we could never really touch
what we were, there was only what we were becoming:
broken spines and scars like braille on foreheads–
an image loose in the eyeballs, blackness shaken,
the future an iron pincer in our peripheral vision.