prayer furnace

stacks of hands

dry together 

lichen and termites 

drop from wrists

die together

saps age

mould and tannins

season under fingernails

rest the furies

fade the black effort

down to concentric prints

squint games

better the enemy you know
circle me ankle, waist, neck deep
grey silk water, most familiar fear
resting as one can over the jaw of another
squinting, my only game, playing
this is not this, but that
bones clotting the mud bottom
logs, all logs. washed clean. left after storms
squinting to see it. squinting until shut.

in that new dark dream
light the color of lake
bones aright themselves
assemble seaworthy raft and mast
lift me up like kin. we glow like kin
i offer my skin
sail the lake indifferent
to storm or light

not a believer

not a believer not
a marcher not
onward nor upward nor
further nor
in
no scribe no
orator no
translator no
scholar no
judge nor juror no

but a tea reader but
a star reader but
a palm
a card
a handwriting
reader but
a body
a breath
a vibration
across rooms
and skin
drug bow
on string
reader
but a reader