A new poem I wrote on this morning’s flight from Miami; still a draft–

I want him to trace the path
connect freckles on my back
create constellations, ask
why this one and when was that

I want him to hear the tales
see the shapes behind the dots
lift oral tradition veils:
who came before, what they wrought

I want him to touch each point
pierce the mute skin of the sky
fingers spanning story joints
he braces me, we sigh—

Related posts:

  1. the looming sky
  2. the coat poem I didn’t write
  3. comfort in baked potatoes