I make myself two hands of clay because I don’t have hands,
two acrobat feet that I lose every time I run away.
I want to go home with the desire to make myself a mouth,
With parted lips, with folds, with a tongue, with breath.
Two eyes that can reflect
against the figures drawn by the backlighting.
I’ll invent a nipple that gets turned on in the cold
a second lazy one that curls up in its nest.
dry grass for the braids and the storms.
I don’t know.
turn myself back into a seed and expand,
turn myself into a ligament and then a nucleus
like a womb.
mold myself into a different body, a different life,
if I’m so inclined.