we can only hold so many people in our minds.
invariably superfluous skeletons slip out fractures
in our skulls. leaking
slender bodies from our ears and from our nostrils,
we open up our lips and limbs slide slowly through our teeth.
ceramic skin full of watery souls,
the trails of beings drip like bread crumbs back behind
the forgotten strewn like snow salt
drying footsteps
and you will never be one of those figures,
the ones lying by the wayside.
and you will never be one of those figures,
the ones cracked under my toes.
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