dangling.

Saturday mornings are for holding

a pen for hours and at times to

swirl words out of it

uneven movements straighten

the tangled week of impressions

sometimes my body carries indents

in places where life wasn’t

translucent

It’s the times that tried to dig

into the texture of perception — feel

feel, feel, don’t

underestimate the energy in motion

within your blood. Connect

the dots, or don’t

dance it out, write it out

on the window sill with one leg

dangling back and forth, or

side to side like an alternative

to a clock. I can never believe

it’s already two!