Things Waiting to Be Beautiful

A body, lying behind an unbuilt house, forming—

               I want a body made from young leaves said an ageless 
               tree. Answer: Yes, it was leafless. No, not lifeless—

I know a girl who wishes to speak, indicating, 
with her head’s tilt, she is also falling asleep.
Her mother (or a distant bird): Hush, don’t worry—

               An entity says, in a voice not quite mine: Over here—

The letter I, extended to eyeless, without the dot:
i declares its disconnection, measures the inscrutable—

               Identity desires formulation. Voice desires euphoria.
               I made it! I cry as if I am in a story. I am grown up now!
               Inside: all the forgotten things, my name, the leaves—

Where are you going? This question is shifting—

               There will come a day when you, by which I mean 
               not you but an abstracted version, will emerge—

A bird is dead. A bird is deathless. Something once 
silent is now reverberating, expanding into mother 
& origin story & Turn around! Can you hear me now?

Read more from Issue 20.1.