Dragged from the sunset
So cleanly I wish I had claws
To dig in to the horizon,
Or for the train windows
To lose their glass
So the wind can teethe a goodbye out of me.
The land writhes against gravity
To warm its skin
On the last embers of winter sun
Sprawled across the clouds
Like red hair tangled through bedsheets:
The weekend rolled up into a tight absence
Coiled inside my lips.