Dispatch #2

Soma

Soma

I spent spring half-tethered
to a body that was and wasn’t
mine. The form was familiar, but I
dangled beyond it. Was it
the mind, the thing that buzzed—
a sound straining to become
language, caught between blades of light
outshining a flowering pear tree.
I’m whole in summer’s monotone;
I’m flesh in this heat.
I think through this body,
alive on a Friday, on a bench,
watching a wasp dodge traffic.
A wasp dissolving into chalk-white sun.