dark and rough and unbreathing

atop my chest remains bone

thin neck untouching

away from my hair, cough crackled on hot blood.

here unalone on the mountain, crouching

unattentive ears remaining without the light.

everything stays. not even a crow uncoils out of

the hills, not even morning sounds.

when I left home, feeling the grassy

plains in my hands, I smelled the unrest,

heard the feet, I am sure, close rain,

and clear skies tethering nearer

but as I half dream here, sunlessly,

stillness tells me that the black

stars upon my cheeks have been transfixed,

multiplying into patterns undecipherable

and unfinished

dew catching in my eyes