clear-aired and heady with the promise of mountains;
mixed with the slow drawl of clouds and carwheels
and light hitting the dashboard.
and in this wood-grain scene of tree-tipped timber,
my fingers tap the measured breaths of my parents.
theres string and air stretched taught over every precipice
they vibrate with the mass of mountains.
each breath breathesone, two
the unpredictability of emotion and movement.
and I am good at words and water,
stumble with brushes and bills
my tongue loosed is fast and fire,
evades capture by a meandering mind.
mouths mouth stay afloat,
but often my arms fall fast to flailing.
but belly-up in sun, everything is
incandescent, iridescentcaught and carried in water
a river of raindrops not yet forced into stagnancy.