devadasi

dark

midwinter i am hearth huddled
videotapes and printed matter
as grief drags across my heart like a greasy pencil
it was only a season ago that
i was lighter than a projected image
curving with delight against the night sky
now the motor is cold
the film is stuck in the gate
and all i can do is burn

offering

just a breath
a lazy palimpsest
as flimsy as tissue
a permeable mystery
the way that i see

my hands are now filthy
from grasping at straws
from clawing my way up
to get a good look at you

and i can swear
by the color of my hair
you and i will share a quiet conversation
before the spring breaks