Perched on Nothing’s Branch

I finally arrived

at the sand’s wet edge,

look around, shrug

that I am where I am,

staring at the end.

A silver ax strokes

summer leaves. Playfully.

I’m perched solidly

on nothing’s branch.

The small body shivers

to receive heaven.

Iron-colored.

Cool shiny dynamos revolve

in the quiet revolution of stars.

Words barely spark from clenched teeth.

The past tumbles

stone-like through space,

blue time floating off

without a sound. A blade

flashes, my hair—

My mustache is a full

caterpillar drooping

down my numb mouth,

my heart aches, words are cold.

There’s no one out here

to hear—