(I wrote you most days from the rainforest floor)
This is where the
moss was
and they were too
I am out of touch and missing all at once unable to get back to the surface
swimming next to a blue flame
glowing ectoplasm glitters
the tour guide is a woman’s voice under the stars and everything concave is inside out far away from what it once was,
uninverted
happy is the uncertain I looked for you in the chrysalis and you
were still wearing
your socks
when you disappeared
I found them in my drawer three days later tucked themselves in still covered in glitter from the caves
I had so many questions when I reached out my hands
stuck to the walls and swallowed my palm
silicone and retreating light
it wanted me to stay in a time I could only help but leave
the artists gold leafed my throat like it was delicate and
ready to go on stage wearing shoe covers walking and talking gently avoiding swimming their arms the foxgloves developed negatives backwards in gelatine over water
pasted down every darkness bright green lime green stinging immediately
nauseous turning to stone under the gaze of the walls.
January 2024
