say, somehow, salvation can be a synonym to shredding.

take a postmortem of everything unsettled in you by its lips,

     & enmesh its membrane into an hourglass pouring every

thing without a name in you into blank spaces. how else

does a poem say you were borne out of displacement? a

    seedbed tendriling into a shape of an exile, a form of

coughing out your body from your soul. boy, no ache 

hovers over your head. boy, you hold sweet things in

    your fingers but you’re so scared to find a space for it

in your mouth. & in the noise of every trivial dark thoughts 

yawning into a form of an elegy in you, smudge your lips

    with this beautiful song: trap every image psalmed as a

form of a verse in you into a firefly & see how miracle 

works. you, a body of beauty. today, you become a face

    looking into the mirror to find which adjective best describes

your countenance. today, you burn cradles into your 

throat as a form of reviving the beautiful song long lost

    in your head. today, the memory of sightseeing within a

crucifix crossed your mind & you thought you found two

birds talking about wings, flight and fall. you made an

    erasure on everything you haven’t unlearned about the

origin of shedding a skin; the origin of being the leftover

of  a bonfire and a farmland. this is the reverse astral

    projection where your soul and body merge back as one.