bones. about kneecaps. how easily they dimple the

earth’s wet surface. this poem is about kneeling.

consider the body’s position. the way our limbs fold

into one another. the way weeping and praying often

yield the same silhouette. and here is a poem about

muscle. focused not on its shape, strength or size.

but rather, its release. the way muscle loosens when

it has had enough (and it has had enough) this poem

is about skin. for once, we will not write about our scars

or how we got them. we will write, simply, about skin.

about its eagerness to swallow moisture. the way it begs,

continuously, to be drowned. yes. this poem will only be,

about our skin. our skin and the color it turns in the sun.

our skin and what it asks for. our skin and how often we leave it.