Roots Are Certain/Sky Is Empty
I keep forgetting the things that I have felt so easily
With the wind it all brushes off of me
into the holes in my teeth
So I'll spend the rest of my life in structures and colors
The shape of what your face used to mean
In a box
Laden with the ones still here
Cutting palms on open trees
You're on the edge of something.
The roots are certain//the sky is empty.