I won't yet mention
my knees--
the hand-splintering altars
forging 'semblances of face,
the oldest masquerade.
That old stranger god,
head of the court dance,
most aped mask
and too fond of threes
cast upon me
the curse of caught,
confined me with bones
'til first I returned
to earth naked as a worm
and then again
as the dark water of oceans.
I was reborn
cracked from bug husk
and stood from crook'd knee,
free from a before
placid on an after.
Perhaps another time,
I'll be roots
or deeper
all that's beneath me
is sky
I precipitate into cloud
drizzling on the underside of brain
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