my drowsy hand crackles the bag full of / braided hair full of braided time. the sun fills my ears and i sweat-dream it out: me, somewhere soon, seen but not noticed, smoothed down and seaglassed. unobstacle to. my eyes, bottle green and just as translucent.
i wake to the road nodding for me. yes- ye- yesyes. neck fever-wet but otherwise bare. i skid my gaze over trembling mountains, leap-and-catch phone lines—and the hair phantoms pull at my scruff. but because my maman loved me all through america, with pull also comes tire / which means that as they pull they also tear up. they also tire. / which means i take the yes as a maybe.