Archaeologists dusted in 

                                          disintegrated life

                                                                       hidden under 

                                                                                             speckles of gray and brown. 

Lowering their spectacles 

                                             onto rims of their masks to study, 

                                                                                                       to piece together—

knock,

             knock,

                           knock

Their hammers intruding

At the door, history glares back—but then it’s grasped

Left to hang for amusement on a wall in some museum.

Untouched by soft hands, worn down under radiant eyes,

Fluorescent lights, the spectacle suspended, no longer

Suspended in time.

If only they knew of the tears that evaporated from 

The chasm between

                  The stories etched into the pages                                   born from this book’s spine.

 

Effortlessly floating in the depths of a midnight bath

A cool silk blanket swirling around arms, chest, head

A gush—it all vanishes in a sudden rush—yanked out

From this sublime life he goes, now stuck on roughness 

Scratchier than a salty ocean scraping arms, back, legs.

Blue glow but no water 

Weighing down on his head, a snorkeling mask

Muffled voices circle without the reefs, the corals, the ocean,

—and a towel on a radiating beach. A sunlight that blinds.

Vibrations reverberate from his nose, through his chest.

A tiny hand clasps a finger—he can’t let go. So small, so fragile

Too small, too alone. Touched not enough so as not to tear. Adored

By eyes he cannot recognize. Missing 

The midnight bath

 

Pricks and pangs ricochet down her leg

Encased in hardened paper machete 

Once gold-winning feet impaired mere meters from the end

Tumbling down, the dream rolling away, disintegrating

Into the snow—white, scintillating, rough

Her cast binds the memories

She opens no pages, reads no news, knows the words

Any photograph as transparent as the x-ray

Mumblings continue beyond the door

Fracture …  surgery …  ambulation … how unfortunate

She exhales

My broken bones are not a show