i am trying to understand my own

turmoil unwound withering               a deer 

in light deathly            i am

vulnerable and cold                despite the sheaths

of green and yellow                buttered foliage

i am small                   my hands can hardly wrap
around the dreams in my words                    or

the sinews of smoke               almost sorrowful when

snuck in bright daylight                      i puppet a body

i don’t belong to                     a body i found on the

curb reading foolhardy ‘take me’                   it wants

what it wants              i do not condone its wanting              i do not

consent so                   we split down the centre

splinters discarded swept up              at night i pray 

it comes home at a reasonable hour              sometimes it does not

but still i use the body             sometimes i climb trees i run maybe i’ll

even love someone                 but today i must have its

racing heart its shaken digits and                   breath shallow

and putrid                   if i could choose, i would have a

different body             a frog to jump, perhaps          a

dragonfly high             a worm’s self-sufficiency

but what do i know?               my whole world was

felt-out hands first       –         to learn what to 

stroke and what to grip          and what to stay away

from                who am i         

to resent my body’s cravings 

for interdependency?             i have no

choice, but i love my world                so surely

i must love these bodies too