Summer gathered her children 
and rowed all the boats to the edge

of the land and waited for the darkening 
so she could close her torn hands.

She hung her apron from the moon 
and stretched her body over the horizon. 

She sang a song we couldn't hear. 

We all die when she does - 

her lonely suckling at stars
her green complaint against the sky

a reckoning. 

There are things moving we can't see
my mother says

wood beams in houses that contract
rocks rising through dirt

I said "pin nah chey" and you said
"it's pinawsh" and I folded the correct
pronunciation and a silver shame
into the bird cage of my chest

I remember something as a rose petal -
either your mouth of my nipple -
and the bed was so hard I remember
sleep as a plumb line

and there were train tracks in that
room with us in a weak white light
and speakeasy doors

Can you remember the password?
It's important in case anyone takes our
body and wears it around as a costume
at galas or bars or tea parties

my neck is strained from looking for you

I hear my voice in your head as a silver bell

I hope your sciatic nerve has stopped choking you
I hope your body has worked itself to joy
And I hope when you dream of me
I am walking towards you with all my bones
exposed