I.

Face down, 

sinks into warm dry earth, 

a looseness in bones. 

Creeping weight  

on top, breath hot  

in the nape. 

What the light under the door 

and the wind brings 

cannot be shifted; it multiplies. 

A complete takeover — a pinch. 

Refusal followed by a sharp blow 

to the brainstem. 

II.

I drew milk  

from a cardboard cloud, 

always falling 

through layers 

unseen. And being seen, 

being made invisible, 

making visible 

domesticated scarred tissue. 

Point an arrow 

to the victim 

who does not understand 

what victimhood is. 

III. 

No hook 

for my backpack 

the weight 

I carry without heeding 

normality, 

unspoken yet directed. 

Clinging to perimeters, 

unseen and seen, 

a taunting. 

The anxious bee, 

yellow belly pressed 

against the brick. 

IV.

The other shoe plummets. 

Intimacy a trap 

door leading to a climb, 

made flesh. 

What is seen 

can be bested. 

But the warm earth 

all too familiar, 

the weight 

a broken home. 

At home with 

the dryness. 

V.

I have been moved, 

inhabited 

many spaces 

except my very own. 

I need to come 

home 

to myself. 

Working the tools 

I found 

lying on the ground. 

Acceptance 

wrinkling my skin.