I show the pale flesh of my wrists 
listen to the swish of my veins

blood talks in streams and pools
talks in memories of slate

memories of bone and origin

I walk in dreamscape of lidded things

Birds see dogs as the ghosts of wolves; half-hunters with no kill-bite behind the growl.
kill-bite, that way the wild ones know, to take a neck between deft jaws and break it, quick.

Ground means danger, height means safe, water means safe.

Safe from ghost-wolves, from half-knowledge cats who think they are still kittens and know how to catch but not how to kill-bite.
Leaving brothers and sisters torn and useless. Unable to find mates, make nests, unable to multiply bird-nation.



Heavy leaves

a dyed dress

an old bra

cats' teeth

lost woman

always lost women