Torn Page

Torn Page

What do I begin with this ongoing
omnidirectional conversation of ours,
hese fever dreams where meaning
evaporates just as everything is about
to make sense? So many doors but

turn back and the hall becomes a maze.
Going forward solves nothing.
I begin again where I fail to be.

The fever breaks. I am in a strange room.
I am no longer afraid. The white sheet,
which is the wind, caresses me naked.
Fire cools me. Everything is in reverse
and unraveling. Finally, I can breathe.

A hummingbird flits through my rib cage,
pauses on my sternum. I have no sugar.
I know the passing hours by their colors
and sounds, and I with them
an ancient tooth in the tide, visiblethen gone.