One could say dance
because I am longing in
distance
somewhere between the frontal cortex
and the cerebellum
the place where my spine dips
rather contrudes my neck
lengths
I dream of touch
down my back
cartilage of marrow
play out a tune
massage the rest
of the baker’s monsoon
we are but the
tide brought in
where we come from
how we began
our bones are made of
crushed seashells
so tiny
they could build the world
broken rocks and
shattered shells
this is our home
swimming in divinity
it pains to see
the moon pull me down again
under the current
I’d let you sweep over me
for I am just a pendant
Kail Anderson 