i am walking out                        of footprints

body left behind in crystals, i am

walking here next to rusted wires, a fester left behind
where you once built a city

of bodies on Sundays, structures:                            lilies,

                                             lawns:                                      palmpressed & praying
there, we spun whistles into anthems

              & peeled off scabs                    to watch the clots pearl
& what’s the point of bridges anyway,

                              hovering over nothing

                                                                                                  more than their marrow

                                                  over this rucksack of riches,
                              pearls unspooled & pooling

& this city crystal underfoot





                                    on days like this,

it’s nice to remember how it feels

                                                                                                  away from the sentence filled like a city
Abi Pollokoff is our Poet in Residence for February.

Previously: To live in ignorance is exactly what, and The sea thinks beyond itself