yesterday Alphabet bit
into my old bone
non-song
today Alphabet’s throat feels
my flesh-shape slide
down
tomorrow this phantom
of antler-shapes
this ghost of ants’
ways over snow
this cross-
criss twig lord this
god will
begin
to digest
my human me
an
ing
tugged
a word out
from
mud
spat on
it to
clear
its
surface of
dirt then
heard
how a
word may
clink
ever
so very
gently as
light
hits
it