Picture the earth as a child, swaddled in the velvet of a supermassive / black hole. Forgive me for butchering this metaphor.

I left the shower and kept
singing. I sang about my body
like I was proud. I was proud.

ron skips across asphalt, black eyes / like stigmatas, gray-brown fur left in the street

Spring is the loneliest time, but the jacarandas / keep coming and coming as if deaf to expectations.

My toenails churned the dirt, searching for Earth’s weak spots: / places to root.

Would tell you how I, fourteen, dreamt of these exact hands / In the latent underside of a wave.