i'll never learn how to sit up straight. my fists, unfurling, long for crisp white sheets. the kitchen table is covered with dead insects, i'm barefoot on my wooden bedroom floor. the whole room smells of wood, polish.

i perform self origami in my bed, folding clean corners, white joints, into foetal boxes. dream about the cliche of hands pressed together. please autumn, steal the life from the leaves, we pray. herald death to the earth, bring an intrinsic chill that will require layers, cocoons.

ravelling, unravelling; no difference.

summer's over, i won't be picking pearls off my skin and rubbing sand on my hips. i am inland shipwrecked. butterflies suck the final nectar; i run my hands over fabric in search of the perfect quilt. the words that matter -- clandestine, sestina [a name], clam + calm, wheat, suitcase, wrinkles, bell, moon.

i am clumsy again, spilling precious things; it must be autumn.