Mary Sechyna
The way my body finds itself
The way my body listens to itself,
its inorganic matters. Copper hair turning white
like autumn lost to winter.
The way my body sings
the humming of land between
my forearms, an isthmus of sorrows.
The way my body absorbs
sound, the pitch of what's meant and not
the marmoreal walls cracking.
The way my body meets another
like the beginning moments of evolution
a fish now a bird, a pheromone in limbo.