I’m climbing into the corpse of a whale

3 Oct

Lisa Hannigan – Nowhere to Go

She spoke to me of hands,

that afternoon.

And I dipped mine in sands as

we all knew.

She showed me delicacies, in depth

topography.

Perhaps, it was lost on me.

I said,

“I think mine forgot all of these

intricacies,

or they were burned off in my

infancy.”

“Look” she spoke, coaxing smoke to

speak “It wasn’t me.”

“They’re there.” pulling my hands from

sea bones.

Telescope eyes focus, begin and I

atone.

I sky scanned and saw sails that

drew me in.

Wind that need these thin threads,

that bleed.

Knead thoughts, by now she had

the read.

Impede. She cannot know about

The Seed.

image: Unidentified photographer

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