wind rustles fig leaves. thumbprints
scatter themselves to the contours

of stranger lips. i see mother’s face
in this morning’s cereal bowl, oat loop

eyes, and mouths. pieces unbroken.
broken. a curled fork. tin cups. unfulfilled jars.

in the kitchen, the laundry machine
hums, overflows, spills the dragonflies

nestled in my worn-out pockets.
the knitting of my favorite blue

sweater is frazzled. i rearrange my limbs
to match the splitting thread.

from my window, a girl sleeps under
a maple tree. silently, my clock chimes

to dusk. i peel an apple to its core. pop my
limbs from their sockets. perform.