cracks run
along my palm
beating my wrist
like a left hand drum
where time cannot exist
or fold itself into one place
in my hand words are
the paths I once walked
kicking the winter apples
as they murmured in love
how alone am I
fastened to the ground
in a sleep permanent
raging beneath moonlight
the apples are falling
from the beginning
and landing at the end
in the blue water of my feet
a bird calls
waiting to be born
and I am unbroken
stiffened and folded
– Daniel Haskin
November 4, 2023