Bread Crumbs

Changing positions in bed, seeking words, seeking phrases. Seeking memory. Comfort. Comfort for my back and for my words. Within my words. Language. Following the trail to see where it leads. Leaving bread crumbs behind.
•I have never used the word “sheaf” in a sentence.
• This morning, on my right hand I chipped a fingernail on fabric. Even now it throbs. Sensitive to small motions of the wrist as my arm moves across the page, my mind wondering between sonnet notes, pornographies, or—

•55/ also the muscular motion of carp, phallic arches, lunging at food under bridges, under shadows of green water

the blue curling smoke of incense, a dense coil lifting prayers•