strings of their white flowers, spinning
long strings of light: looking through pines, she grew
constellations out of the dirt,
with her nimble fingers unfurling
white lilies, gray lines
drying all over with the smell of sweat and snapped leaves. I tell myself
that what was removed from me as a child can be found in a dream, like this.
in a dream, like this: nestling into the wovenness of firefly, leaf glow,
haired leafery brushing goose-pimpled arms, and neck, I tell myself
of in-between spaces, like this:
large body folded into purple-brown shadow;
softer than cut-foil stars.
Grey Sparrow Journal 