The oscillations of her voice
Rose graves of cats
The frequencies of her steps
Woke caves of bats
Pure in sleep frozen to a tree
The black dog in my chest can’t breathe
Washed up from the boiling sea
Bones and busted flutes
The ships are in the trees
Suspended there creaky mutes
Pure in sleep frozen to a tree
The black dog in his chest can’t breathe
A necklace made of leaves
The ghosts are in the bees
Giants on the sun
And from her babies flung
The ghosts are in the leaves
A necklace made of bees
And babies on the sun