Knowing

Knowing is to find the mirror

stitched through the body—anchoring

a single, winged truth.

Knowing is a self-helmed clock poked

through by a bird sounding on hour—

an echo-feathered signal that presses the talon

until it unlocks and stops, light circles

to tell us: this is the real red thing

everything else hums around, the needlepoint where ripples

reel inward—blood soaking the heart—

a liar’s tongue drowned in our hollow-less chests.

Knowing is a convex gathering

at sight’s end to weaken bones

and faint the brain. Fingerprints are a way

of speaking—skin buttons together:

knees, hips, collarbones.

Knowing is an iris, open-mouthed

to a kiss: wanting lips, retracting teeth. Encyclopedic words

don’t stick: zeros we amorously fill

with pulsing messages evaporating into breath—

and knowing is a corset of two souls

that recognize their counterpoints make a whole—

love that never plateaus, always accepts.

Published by Emerge Literary Journal