Ceiling

If I could be her,
the candy of Heaven – swirled pink
breathlessness.
I stare at the ceiling in June. It feels
like death breathing in.
Outside of my mind,
divination. She is absent from my thoughts.
If I could be her,
winged one who gets to close the
door
and leaves. If I could be her,
not losing experience
for security.
I walk unaffected through traffic.
People talk constantly – If I could
be her,
beyond language,
the wife of the sea and canyon,
who can rise
up out of dust.
But they won’t let me
dissolve.
Exodus is
execution and I am staring at the ceiling
thinking
I could.