On Latitude

I am thunder,

grinding sky diamonds in the earth of my thighs.

I have lived forever,

suppressed and swelling, willing but caged by these

ribs, caged

by a systemic contentment

yet never a prisoner.

We, I, have been waiting for you,






we, us, me,

look at me, hear my words.


Our tongues are brothers,

no-- sisters.

Our minds are of the same flight

gliding, golden backed


You always had father’s eyes.

You see the surface , the crust, her shallow layers

but I, we

see Sky’s constant wrapping

of silk curves

folding in on hues of amber

and fossil breathes

of father.

We see what could be, the beauty in himself that  he

could not.

In this beauty, we are equal, brother.

We are finger-painted,

cut and pasted,

layer-extensive collages

of the same



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