Dwelling
By: Amanda Koenigsberg
archaic archangels of oat grass and sea
in the waiting, fading in between rooms,
the sky is painting endings.
under damp awnings, blinded by light nests
and outraged at the sun.
your day old skin radiates sense and sound,
a desert bloom, a petal marked
*
there’s a dwelling inside
I am a servant to knowing breath and hollow abandon
dust to dust immovable beneath open sky
cresting, crashing against algaeic stone,
a storm is blooming
we stop and watch its immovable weight
pigmented by last year’s haste
we turn upwards and speak delayed wishes and promises,
an over-steeped tonic, a gull’s last flight
who said we can’t hold fallen rings
they all feel the same in my hands