you unravel something ancient

in me

your music

your patient archeology

sweeping away

my bones

my joins

my unnamable

mismatched pieces




perhaps this fragment

reflects the first song

i ever heard

perhaps that shard

the first lyric

clutching my heart

spilling from the radio

its karmic excavation

seizing me

somewhere between

washing and ironing




i fold myself

into your notes

scoop out the centre

and suck the pulp

until dry




abandoning skin completely




if i had one thing to give you

to return all shapes

you’ve rearranged

with my skin

with my bones

i’d give you

a grail to sip your daydreams

or something

not quite poem

but as enduring




something waiting to be discovered

in alphabetical middens

scrawled across screen

the imprints of my dust

scattering

another and another and another

into you

waiting




to be gently swept away

once again


deanne leber 2008

washing and ironing was going to be something harsher... but i wanted the poem to glow a bit...