Some Mysterious Farewell
 

I was language before I was a body, fit for a soul too long in the arms. I was sand forged by the sea’s signature, strung out on the narcotic moon. I lived a whole village inside my waiting. Every voice a muffled thunder. Every god claimed acquaintance with the weather. I burned my tongue on my own riddles. The night bloomed a great garden. There were no bones that weren’t the skeletons of birdsong, of bat-song. I unearthed a woman-song, its hum an allegory of bees. The words were a confusion trapping my escape. I plagiarized my sin. I refused the fugitive you.