Every Turn
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You can smell her in your sleep,
the gold hair blown into your face

across state lines. Her body
shifts beneath the covers,

forming into strange letters,
as if flashing light signals

to an ocean ship. You rise
from the damp bed,

lean against the future
with the imprint of a leaf

on each hand, then pass
the dresser Madonna.

Outside, sparrows fly up to you,
kiss your fingertips.

You whisper, “Bird, bird!”
tasting the light with your hands.

Every time your body breaks
against the ground you must step over it.