Salem, Oregon

Because I am not sleepy,

            I have the skin of a quince

that has spent its life wrinkled;

            inside the quince

I am drawn in. I cannot tell when

            a finger reaches in

and scratches the atoms

            of the chest, sometimes

a tattoo will bring the knee

into my strap

or the yellow scabs falling

            on the dirty floor are stars.

Beginning to itch each other

            out of their drifting cloak,

all the clocks I have known

have been chambered by the fog

and the locks crossing the docks

at night.

Ariel

April 10, 2011

Trees on Memaloose Road
CC Willow

based on Jacksonville, Vermont by Jason Shinder