In a previous death
I was a nail,
driven into the foot of the Way itself.
I celebrate the Equinox.
If I have fingers –
they serve only
to drop the sunset’s shoulder.
Later on there is a content leak
and the night is so chatty,
that the air splits into tablets.
I'm looking for the nail hole –
to crawl on the other side,
where there is no truth,
but only the potency of everything