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