Drive You Crazy Trying to Learn What It Means

I know about the bird trapped inside your eye,

and the worm under your tongue, behind the cage of your teeth.

I have made a fossil of myself in your shoulder.

My bones are learning the way you sleep.

My wire fingers tremble inside your cheesecloth skin,

as your fists beat thunder across the sky.

Everywhere your feet fall, it begins to rain.

My thumb pressed down into your sea,

makes a fingerprint for starfish to finally know their names.

If your skull had wings, my thoughts would eat the air,

my ears would devour all the voices under the earth,

and the rocks would know what it is to run.