once there was a man with a microphone at his heart

beat the loop it is all nothing right out of your mind

a me on my back I count the breath in my belly

backwards until numbers, the structure dissolves

a rhythm occupying space

—it is how I know we are here—

but why so fraught with our shadows,

the shadows of what we choose to ignore

the sound is so sweet, but its mark: blood in the air

your ribs are a blinking Sagittarius, my jugular,

a creek humming through a cut in a hay-colored valley

of a home we righteously silence