Making old tomorrows, I count the
edges, culled holes.

Collagen coins trim my
surface, make sounds in me. A tenor like

granite, dove-like notes lace. Partly
inherited, partly earned. This heavy

dowry weaves apparitions, generations
tangling threads, shorn without knowing the

toll. Elbows, knuckles, torso. Knees, face.
Vertebra, wrists. Stalwart… woody.

Moving around in time, along a helix stair-
case… gravity becomes quantum. New

pasts start to cleanse, bleaching branches,
re-establishing days. Time travel is possible,

but our bodies remain.