SHELL: Call again.
SHE: I don’t know what to make of it, or the light-belly
SHELL: is it his speak-shadow, a lie next to
SHE: Yes. He did hips. Ceiling, resurrect something!
SHELL: No, I meant to twist bodies, daisies, into a faith you could hold onto
SHE: Like the grass is asked to give, I don’t know, something I couldn’t.
SHELL: No, your neck to me. Bless ceilings. Lie next to.
SHE: When swirl-towards stares at hips, I call the daisies, pray: letter-me good. letter me to moon something I couldn’t.
SHELL: I understand. But can-he can’t take the handed ceiling, twist. Into faith.
SHE: Can-he, like grass to me. Bless hands, walk toward belly and bellow, where light begins.
SHELL: Speaking of I Am, unhook hips, once he sheltered in your shoulder.
SHE: Letter-me, call can-he’s body “Blessed. I miss.”
* note: from the “not-quite-sure-what’s-going-on-yet” series