two mornings

a day could have two mornings.

one

in which

i open beside you

another

where i wake,

brave enough to talk.

my breath is not too anything to be petty.

there is not enough day

to unlove

my puppeteer hands.

also to say that i have been

your flesh at every age;

a liar to you

ocean act

oh the every heavy thing

that becomes, with a million others

myself, my father, my many mothers

they told me light

would be flashlight suns

on the sides of any city i wanted

to be.

but the beginning comes to me in running,

bodied waters,

when i thought a god

could be

so many seperate thieves