The world is born in the slumber-crusted corner of an eye.
Home is a word repeated backward through the windows of a hundred slow-moving trains.
Translate longing and what is left behind in the spaces of the syntax is now a feeling genesis. This will be our private language, we stake a claim to the key. I watched you arrive draped in spandex and denim, bejeweled. Shelby County's own Jezebel. I remember you smiling, all starlight and energy.