it is cold enough to press hot metal to my eyes
and soften until the lids are able to be peeled open.
the flower in my pupils, i snap the petals off
and wither into the dirt, toes sunken in the soil.
the stars look like a muddy tapestry, fraying
from the center to its edges. i pull on the loose
thread and unravel the sky until there is nothing
left. i wrap the string around my arms and tighten
until my cracked skin turns red. it is warm. it is warm.