From between ribs I peer out
at a sunrise that spreads
like blood spat on a scrim
of snow,

heart heavy-breathing
in my left ear

while around me
the little beasts monster
under backlit trees

startle smaller birds so that
eggs fall from nests,
beneath careless feet;

rip flower heads
from stems
with cutting teeth.

I’d rather hide
inside this body cavity,
surf systole waves
back to sleep.

But day begins
when the sky turns ordinary,
when the beasts howl:

they need me

to kiss finger tips
to peel an orange—
their hold cracks ribs.

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