This Used To Be A City Of Glass

i heard this city used to be glass, and maybe
it fell, maybe it lifted itself

off the dirt, and went upwards. either way,
you’ll find shards in the lawn.

                   i’m still carving out pieces.

our landscape became a fiction, borrowed
objects and the quiet stance

of stone, brushed with dirt and smears of wet,
faded colors.

                   i’m still wiping the corners clean.

the heat descended every couple of hours,
just enough to stop the frost bite from our

appendages, just enough to lend some time,
hours maybe. let me feel its cool corner

tracing my limps, let it stop on my ankles,
circle and carry back up.

                   someone says, “the dance is imperative.”

now my body is swollen, damp with the aftermath.
your ease remains elusive, crossing and uncrossing

legs, the way you shift your weight, sliding
between the space where the door’s not shutting.

when the curse was cast, the bloodshed became
foreign. i had no part in this, but my name was said.

                   did you hear it pouring from the survivors’ teeth?