In ash and . brackish water I’ll be
standing with an onion in one hand and a stone in the other
asking you to choose the color of the sky
thunder legs, cold knuckles, the remembrance of
things sharp-hearted and sudden
the taste of bitter root
the end won’t ride fire or gouge out glacial grooves
we are waiting for ocean and above to . . touch bodies
sisterbrotherlovers . slow-dancing & trembling
Say it: Yahnt-SEV-ich. annajancewicz.com
