Whatever it is, you want to contain it,
grab it by its throat—
make a necklace of white diamonds so iridescent
it’s almost gaudy.
The hands want what they can’t
ever hold, want roots
shapes that can’t stay true to their forms.
a sequence of shredding, the underbelly of a snake,
I might run.
I’m like two stones slammed wild. Barefoot
always coughing white feathers instead of blood,
The surprise never wanes.
it’s the bird I can’t let go.
The White Diamonds
Are a Necklace of Feathers
Charlotte Seley
86