unfurled raze splashes of flour coat the slow-rising dayspring. wait for my feet to knead your promise into soft sustenance. wait for my knuckles to make a lattice of your spine. for fissures in the firmament to fill with the warmth of whatever won't be unmoored from memory. wait for what's been lying dormant to bloom again. for every flesh-covered single-seeded flowering plant to stand up straight and ask to be counted. wait for me, and when all the ice that holds me here has thawed, i'll swim to you. 220313 what's it to you? who go blather from