Although my body is an anchor, it’s beginning to float. The darkness is a dim, fragile music. When I speak, things unhappen. If you listen, carefully, you may hear voices in my skin. There are different kinds of secrets. They conceal something no one knows, the way a dream conceals sleep from the sleeper. Like rain, it’s nothing personal. It occurs to me there has been a change of address. I am closer now to a beginning, a storm without lightning or clouds. The air is loneliness. Birds fall from the flesh of the sky. I think only of you.
Audio appears at decomP, November-December 2017