By the windows of keyholes

By the windows of keyholes
by the eyes of birds
by the bead of blood
by the dark drops of apple seed
and the mica gleam of salmon scale
the notes hung on gibbets of air
flung out like smashed sweat
the ember of heart
banked under the tear in the earth
by the sisters whose ears refused the drink of words
by the mother who polished the skies
by the spirit whisper of pine woods
the broken slash of mirror
in the wrist of the river
by the sieved pearl of the split second
by the water table of truth
in the asylum library
slipping through the you and the I
smooth, adamant, archaic, aflame
to lie down and find joy