from what raw ground

I.
granite, salt, half circle of brick
bread and marbles, meats and signs.
heavy hands in pockets, around matches.
clumsy.

put on a hat.
keep feet sneakered and pointed.
to work, to work.
must work, must move
on.

a chamber, a cave,
anything dark and echo-prone.
i came for something
to learn
not to have.

but will i leave?

II.
steps tonight, smoke again, spinach.
check check check, the little things, lists,
privileges. what does it mean
anymore? stay in your lane.

overheard conversations sound like wind
on the hill, fluorescence, downpours.
the phone call is for a bonfire,
i have things to burn.

i have things to bury.
don't we all

III.
on the walk, facedown and dead:
small brown bat.
which cat killed it
why it sits there

oh the sidewalk

i want to do something.
i don't

IV.
deep water is trapping, feels like lungs
covered in ash. but what of quiet eyes
caught me in their bluest
in my bluest

silence. i was so cold,
shivering with memory
and sickness. the belly lurches,
head hammers,

throw up
sink down

too far underwater, i thought
but it is happening so quietly, i think
almost like a betrayal
almost

V.
grass. we are standing. just
standing. small flags announcing
borders, boxes. something was organized,
not me.

not a hand, turning
not a corner, turning
not any of this

what narration cannot do,
though attempts are made.

VI.
we are standing, just standing.
eggs nearby, dozens.
i note: my blood, the table.
between, the proximate.
we take note of the movements.
i write, yes

and there is certainty. but what of quiet
eyes caught me, have been
catching me, have followed me
in their bluest
in my bluest

in the wind on the hill
through hat shoes sweater boots
plants paper apologies
in ripe water, warm flowers,
tender, ready eyes

your deliberate voice.

i surprise myself,
strangely willing.
crack

open, again.

how did you do it?