everything has been said

your words the
Earth beneath my
feet, your tone the

truth is taught by
your tongue the
spring-spit
glistening quiet on my
left cheek,

everything has been
said; chestful or
fistful i blue and
pale.

twenty-seven hunters
scramble along my scalp

twelve or so cold leads;
shadow and rind, infected
follicles

twenty-seven hunters
snagged beneath my
fingernails