Member Poem

Split eggs on straw, a fledge drawn
wings first. There are tiny stitches
on the yoke of the night’s shirt.
A holy man’s wish for a turban.
Sturdy bones of an air-
perforated apogee. Gather these
fragments. Assemble my body.
There are more caves inside
a mountain than confessions
in ascent.

First published in Section 8 Magazine