there are margins down the middle of us
sides inside and we blunder somewhere in between
there are rocks in Butte, Montana that ring / immaculately shattered
each fissure humming siphoned err
highway signs: “warning, falling rallentando”
cliff sides strummed by passing cars / rock broken
into singing and oxygen broken into breathing
lungcavern vibrating and sediment blood seeping
a whistle harmonizing out of rock lips
matter warbling down our intestines
gravity wrong-keying down our limbs / in geologic time
our clamoring bodies are swallowed soundlessly
regurgitant breath winding its way into resonance
