A coin with a profile is one thing
I’ve never been given. An abbreviation
for how my lips don’t move is another
that always left me empty-handed.
I get out of bed with nothing
but the longest explanation.
Body the bareness of a busy signal
everyone has the same words for.
Who knows what really happens
to the throat when a coin keeps time
tight as footsteps in house arrest.
The morning is dedicated to undertow,
and houseplants, and telephones that never give
more words than you’ll need
to hear a voice shake.