it is not exceptional
to come from that place where you see yourself,
in a room without mirrors, at the blessed table,
before the blow arrives, it is not levitation,
palmed card, loaded dice,
oh lay me down a tide to quench the heart,
burning core spinning up heavier metals,
the people preaching forgiveness are the children
of the people who sold us down river, we are
what remains after the slag is beaten off,
we have burned and wish to share the flame,
dreaming of bevels, bolsters, learning to taste
air, blood, a different iron than salvation,
oh lay me down in the tide, wave
fold and fold, rust and rust, taste the day
cooking up, slow simmer of night rolling
into a full boil, salt and spice, face of steam
face of unsaid, mouth without vision,
ear curling to wingbeat