so many share your name

If I asked you to listen to a rift would you
consider? Think of the prospect—
all a thin crevice can hold
boundless element of sound
more so than the great canyon of your spirit.
I could be the bowl for crushing ore
forcing fragments so tight, squatting in pain
hairskin particles all scrape the marrow
’cause you are the pestle and you’ve
never let it go that I cut out waves of my hair.
Push and grind until you’ve carved
an opening insistent on being filled
because after all we began by poking our
fingers through the wire to pick unripe berries
while if we’d waited rot may have set in cascades.