The Belly of a Clam
“…The wind picks up the breath of my armpits/Like dust, swirls it/Miles away/
And drops it/On the ear of a rabid dog,/And I take on another life”
-Gary Soto
I travel along a mountain.
The curve of a spoon was
too concave to maneuver.
Tossed from a cliff.
As I fall I am caught
in a pocket of infinity.
The strings of my being,
they slowly unravel.
I separate from myself, like a piece of lint,
a fibrous tumbleweed
in a volumeless suitcase.
Mother said I could
always begin anew.
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