I feel it there, between my heart and ribs,
Along that thin strip of flesh.
A crack upon the sternum
Words
And how they rest there in the shallow scoop of skin
A clavicle.
Words and how they rest there
Fingers how they hover on an iliac
Scapulae and how the feathers bleed when they emerge.

What are you dreaming about?
What would you have become?

If you wanted to, little dove, you could unbury the ocean;
Or watch the ground unfurl—
How it peels back like skin.
You could unbury all the bones inside the yard,
Discover truths that all the world has hidden—
You could take the truths and let them grow inside your womb
The little seedlings of the words
How they hover on an iliac
Rest inside a clavicle
The shallow scoop of skin—

If you wanted to, little bird, you could unburden the mother,
Unbreak the son.
You could open up the eyeskin
And breathe into it—
Just to see the patterns
And the way that things become.