ALIGNMENT PROCESS, Will Davis

 

There is a time lapse of my eyes
Where I slept in perhaps—
An event like stalagmites
burgeoning at seams that was
In a dark that eats voices.
 
There was that was,
a drowsy calculus that only allows
a slip of tongue or lavender,
a rustle of a blanket, remnants
of scent-smears like deodorant.
 
Rustle of blanket, remains of body
warmth , I thought assassins had arrived
for every bird and creaking branch, unless
silence is a new growth, growling
gently along the elevated limbs.
 
All that light, winding its way
against the final body I have
Grown silent watching at the leisurely
pacings of my heart against doors.

Will (he/they) is a nurse, poem scribbler and solitaire enthusiast living in their native bluegrass. Author of chapbook Starter Pistol, Opening Prayer with Alien Buddha Press. @ByThisWillAlone across platforms.