she can recall laying in a still world
clouds lined her bones;
her spine paralytic

it came
for a split second

she sank into a trace of gravity;
a window of motion
and she continued to sink

her bones began to breathe
and they whispered
softly to her

this is what they spoke:

we are being held down
by force of attraction;
a dispute between
the skeleton and the earth

we are the linguist
by nature;
an endeavor
with meager success

we are hollow objects
of composure
simply holding
you within a single respiration

let us breathe your motion
let us embody you
let us lead
let your body forget

infringe upon the empty space
fill us with symphony
fill us with fable;
remind us of yourself

resist the silence
and move with refusal;
refusal to descend
into the arms of gravity

direct your weight
into an indefinite design;
engrave your soul
into the canvas beneath you

her reflection glanced
at the ground
seeing now
that no longer
could she remain
governed by such elements

there is something about gravity
about the stillness
and how it can be extended
with a single motion
or a series of illustrations

you are the pigment;
empty your contents
to let fall a passage
of motion; of voice

enable your body
to roar with sensibility;
escape the temptation
to soften all conflict

a wild storm rages
inside you;
your body is the sea,
a tide ascending skyward

submerge yourself;
float parallel to
these endemic waters

let your skin
absorb the sins
which are withheld;
aged tears who ache
to be swallowed

no breeze can
undermine you;
no thunder can
distract you

for the storm
that cries inside
the soul
carries you

vague dialogue
is exchanged
between the girl
and her bones

she blinks
at the impulse
of gravity

movement takes her
home;
her bones are
filled with desire

they declare
one last thought:

know that this tale
will be told once more;
anew in your mind
will be the story of
the tempest
and her peace