I am the shape the paper takes
crammed into your pocket,
the white thorn of infant's tooth
torn through wordless socket.

I am thirst.
sharpened into sound
that carves dry rivers into white ground
you can't make whole again.

so i fold into earth's openings,
and I'm waterlily without wings,
sinking down the denim sky
smooth white-washed and tumbled dry.

Till you find I'm empty paper sea
and your hand's tired, treading over me,
threading white waves with leaden black
that you erase, replace, rewrite, take back.

till all my words sound worn and round
and I'm just the dust of white and black,
all swirled into a yin-yang pearl
inside your seashell pocket.

Labels: By Ana