small

jagged whiskey blooms,
blood drips, a heart opening and closing,
dialation and contraction of spaces possible.

hands carry a ghost
to fill shuttered lungs
a few leaves spilled in sacrifice.
twin contrails in a January's long dark
free to fall between the trees breath
a slowness, their nakedness belies.

the ceiling of near dawn gives way
a sky failing to the yellowed incandesence
and I am small inside these corners again