I know where the wind wants your body

Not that I am a saint.

Not that I stood for an hour on your door and knocked, tilted-like until faint.

Not that I woke up holding teeth of what-you-said in my hands. No.

Not like that.

And if I suddenly felt you in my chest, suddenly

wore myself out writing scripts on lines toward a desert I knew once but forgot,

if I called down stream to see if you were casting stones.

Hey, stone-man, what are they saying?

The stones? You ask.

Yes. The stones.

Bits here, bits there.

Two say under our feet, a land of honey. A couple say,

remember the break inside, the crack of unmending?

Find me there.

And if suddenly I kept every stone I found in my purse,

weighted down until spilled-rock called to spilled rock

and a girl, stopping on her way to the train said, Hey,

what’s with the rocks?

What’s with the current? I’d say.

And she’d shift nervously, touch her hair.

I know where the wind wants your body.

Excuse me?

I know where to go. I know what it’s like. And no,

I’m not saying that I stood for an hour at your door, tilted-like.

Something walked inside me, just now.

Walked inside and threw their arms out wide and said, are you listening?

Hey, look, it’s not like I wore myself out. Not like that at all.

If I called the stream my caretaker, my belly,

if I name myself land. Then what?

Find me there.

Suddenly, a window and he’s against it.

Not a man, a canyon.

Do you understand the importance of routine?

Text me when you get home.

Drive. Take the car as understood.

Find me there.

I found in my purse a letter you wrote on my birthday.

Stranger, mind.

Body, yours, my temple.

Excuse me?

What’s with the current?

When nervous, laugh.

When you suddenly my chest, laugh.

I am not myself.

A canyon.

Stop on the way to the train.

Rocks. Bits here, bits there.

Said, sunshine break through.

Write scripts on lines toward a desert where stone men lay hands on the land of honey.

I’m not saying I woke up holding teeth.

I’m saying I did.

And the prophesy slept, unmending, in the break inside.

Remember? You ask.

Yes.

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