hands in the garden

out flat, head unscrewed,

refusing
to cinch gaps

between time’s
straps,

should i swell
whole

enough to feel
held-

blameless and
unlearned,

would shelf sag
where books are meatiest?

-undigestible,

inkwell churns,

page by
dead skin page-

i skim along but words
are not the
test

must be burned.