inside the darkest parts of the sky there’s
(the moon, seen by dying Achilléus
or the three of us against the sunrise
gentle touch and sleeping in piles or
between our bodies)
a space for ghosts
or fools.
you’ve met them,
seen the magic in their movements
how they twitch
float between the seconds.
they say we have everything we need
& fight in dresses and mascara mustaches.
watch them breathe in smoke
watch new worlds trickle from their lips
they counterfeit keys to the jails or addiction
or peace, which means extinction
and scheme to make the one that can crack /
time
/ travel scarred veins,
ancestral fire
inside the darkest part of the sky
i meet those who hopped
too fast
that fence out of their
body,
(that way that holy things
make sense of time)
but i wake, left with the reminder that
when my heart forgets how to beat,
they’ll make the ground electric;
my murmuring pulse their best attempt
at crossing the border.