To Pass

Photo by Kirthika Soundararajan on Unsplash

through you, the light be-
tween the shades,
and still

not know which I is
to live
beneath the trap-

door. Bird chirps the
truth, once
shriveling

vine. Here for a new
home. Your
voice called and

I heard, crouching
in the half-eaten grass, trying
to play bones.

Bones painted
on walls. To not notice un-
til you notice. All the time. The bird falls

off, flipped, down,
and over. Lost my
locus. Lost

my mind
in the darkening. Does it say,
we are here to-

gether in your womb, walls
to gather
dust, or

touch. My hands
on the soot, re-
collecting the absence

of song, re-
collecting our
hand in it all.