Inversion

revealed, finally, in true pathos
their smallness, both ancient childllike --
feels like memory

this most ordinary morning
our air seems to have changed
come slightly apart
made of substance: and its opposite strange,

these small silences we may have forgotten
to look back further still submerged

probably more than i can move
possibly more than you can stand

wondering is this perfect?
so minutely fluid and stained
like that song we memorized in the dirty light of four pm
almost subdued fading scratch marks across my neck

i still do that when you're not looking