I won’t come and tell you

that these days I’m a star
lonely as stars

I won’t come and tell you

that these days
there is broken glass
in my breath

that gods pass
one by one
inside me
to revive an ancient ache

that these days
my soul is sitting hidden
inside the flesh
like a dislocated bone.

that the sparrows
that used to fly
within me
have begun to tire

that there was nothing there for them to sit on
no tree, no cage, no rooftop.

that the nail
that used to poke through
has grown larger
than the heel.