Lying this way,
your body seems
a perfect place
to catch a willing
current—one
that folds itself
around your back-
bone, retreats
into one rebellious
pool, makes sound
like a rain stick—
your backbone
as rain stick—
as hollowed cactus
turned upside-down
to sprinkle noise,
make you hobble
in dance.
Moving this way,
you seem tied
to the sky on my
invisible string.

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