my legs are broken pieces of winter
my arms the wooden echo of my penitent father
my eyes are my mother’s geometry
all lines and angles and unraised hands
my hands are unripened apricots and
my thoughts are a hungry bird
I am a seasonal color, quietly stitched
on the underside of gravestones
my blood is papal breath
my knees are the feet of my heart
I am an unpainted Picasso
monochromatic, three dimensional,
a bear, a wave, a phosphorescent dream.
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