From the Fishouse

First heart container in the ribcage.

Shiver down; plunge the spine. I loop my lungs
on string and swing them around: lung to lung.

Second heart container in the hand.

Shake against; snow the bone. I clasp my fingers
on ice and bite its melt: marrow to lung.

Third heart container in the artery.

Splice despite; efface the breath. I tie my cells
onto memory and worry: platelet to lung.

Fourth heart container in the mouth.

Sink in; swallow the throat. I tongue my name
over words and amend: sick love to lung.

Fifth heart container in the desert.

Siphon dry; crack the body. I lace my voice
through sand and descend: empty core to lung.