let’s find our least significant stretch
of skin, and shed it. unthread it, and
spread our feathered selves, instead.
let’s hold our hands up to the sky and
ask for hiccupped hope, some brighter
scope of color, weathered why.
let’s claim our veins, and fill them up
with ink and salt and indigo strains of
song. let’s dance under this flashlight
……….moon. she’s been here all along.