an unwashed portion 


of the woods in winter


names darkening up through 


his hips, catching hold 


on the low branches


near my window


*


branches whisper


that the air inside a person


is dangerous and out


of sync, a density 


of cells spreading down 


to the roots


*


looking out, tracing movement 


my brother is the pine tree


with blood, my curtains 


kept loose for 


the wind and his whispers


about home


*


couldn’t find my throat 


or arms until he kissed


my hands, we mapped


my chest and split my nose


to get out, we couldn’t 


let his cabin let me go