if i covered my heart in pink desert dust,
if i wore gloves made of lightning
and sandals wrung from the stars,
would i feel bigger than what i am?
this is my burden: i hate that i can't be united with the things i love,
that the s of my hair don't match blades of grass,
t that the lining of my stomach is filled
r with mulberries instead of moonlight.
this is my prayer: let mountaintops be limbs sprouting from my wrists
and underwater caves compartments in my brain.
let me swallow the the sun for breakfast,
so that my t
h will glow as i speak,
r and my cheeks will feel warm
o to the hands that touch them.
if i were more than these bones, would i be the world to someone else?