Graspingforreignscalebaweandcarlytaylorpoetry

Grasping for Reigns

To the Big Shoulders it happened once. The shrug over your glare ­ and we behind closed eyes

laid our cheeks against the ground ­ for eternity.

Now the body wholes

the echoes with its own beat.

Despite there being no alternative to full lungs, tragic stumbling,

instant deciding whether to knock on the bed door, embalming legs with wax and honey on the back porch

on a Thursday evening. We are all tongue and cheek and gut and smiles; barbed or glistening,

no sternum inevitable. The sureness of gravity bearing down on our hard­boned spines.

There were trees here, once.

There was water in my hands and with mouths we made rivers

of chalk sand blankets, laid them over wet eyes.

There ­ sleep.

With no eyes watching.