Wreckage

I come, again awkwardly into the palm 

of this second, this blink towards 

immersion. I've been gone from the eyes 

of the sky all night, dreaming of green leaves 

that never sailed, never circumnavigated 

their brevity. Like rust, I have clung 

to the iron will of the past, held up 

by cringing hinges refusing to open up 

the path to the sea where bodies 

that have left return again & yet again, 

in the mindless tide. The brown leaves 

return, cracked through veins, ashen tips 

reporting the fire that burnt forests 

as distant as the oldest stars. 

We settle on the salty wave, weary 

& phobic of turnstiles & trains that scream 

into any sweet dream. I'm waiting for who 

will hold me by feet, show me how 

this earth rotates on a single fingernail. 

If the gyration of time swifts through me, 

I will let the world go like a goalkeep 

with too much gravity on their feet. 

So help me out of this tide with your mouth 

open to swallow anything that comes 

with me. I'm a part of the detritus 

on the fragile lip of the shore & you're 

the fisher holding me by teeth, your 

poorest catch. Do you know the wreckage 

I had to swallow to get here?