the oscillations of her voice
rose graves of cats
the frequencies of her steps
woke caves of bats
go to sleep frozen to a tree
the black dog in my chest can breathe
washed up from the boiling sea
bones and dusty flutes
the ships are in the trees
suspended there, creaky roots
go and sleep frozen to a tree
the black dog in his chest can breathe
a necklace made of leaves
the ghosts are in the bees
the giant's on the sun
and from her, babies flung
the ghosts are in the leaves
a necklace made of bees
and babies on the sun