[creature, If I Hold] Poem by Aaron Eliad

creature, if I hold,
will explode
into a billion angels.

Tears will flex hieroglyphics
on her back
as it cracks open windows of marching whales
in spring and summer,
if you need them there.

if you feel the shower
hissing and remissing. Talking
dirty and firing at your ankles
meshed like white roses
for ripping holes in.

She scribbles while you hibernate
inside the penumbra
weather report of mortality,
like a ghost's placard
belly lined with living,
novelties, and undredeeming
non-sequiters of bibliographies
winning and winking
with one eye closed, like in sleep

cracking ballerina necks
and radio wire sheels feeding
down your apple trees
matured golden with greenings
that grew you palm readings
and spring time that simmered with water
forgiving the top
flags
captured for nibbling and needing them there
along with the picture
of a spanish dancer.