Pendant, what of it. Saint says the daisies are due
to bloom any second—
hold on–I Am.
Speaking of, I walked towards. You knew nothing
of it—broke windows to letter-me.
Whatever the wind-speak, Saint says
pendant swings in the belly
of my neck-bone. You broke
the door, said, had to
do it. Daisies are about to bloom,
I’ll write letters to the window, bend
myself into split of your hip.
I Am—Had to.
Saint Anthony, door, do you?
Walk towards, do it–-
I like the still, he said, you know, the wind-
speak of your body.