it’s in the word-the curve of each vowel on

your tongue & on paper.

it’s the way the words shake from my wrist &

sometimes land.

it’s the way i don’t mean what i say. it’s the way

i sweat to write. it’s the way grass prickles feet

that hover off deck.

it’s the way warmth makes prose sad & cold

may make it happy. it’s the way a bird i’ve never

seen before flies.

it’s the way i squint through sunglasses. it’s the way

i recycle to invent. it’s the way i learnt to brush

my teeth twice. it’s the way i cut, i snap, i speak.

it’s the way i can learn to say so much

just to avoid

saying anything at all

or opening sunday’s door.