Heart in hand, I am like a dog
mouthing singing, souring prey,
a dove, for all I know.
What, domesticated, breaks?
We all do, yes,

the riddler crazes porcelain,
pushes each puzzle piece to rest.
Our test is harder, traps us.

We are essence, collapsed and warm.
We are gestures in a beam.
My fingers are midair, needle between two: my shadow forms a bird
with blood like rubies.
I gleam, but seek closure.