cloud in my ankle
i blinked and the fork remembered me
a cat hummed the shape of a mountain
a shadow stood where my foot used to be
and the cloud said nothing,
not even “wait”
the tree wore my name like a loose sleeve
and someone walked away
in my direction
as if the blur had somewhere else to go
blink blink
where were you when the ankle bent?
cloud cloud
did you mean to forget the scent?
plate spins, fork stays
and still—i stood
in someone else’s day
my hand rested on a wooden line
the eye caught nothing,
so it kept catching
the cat faced the other way
not because it meant to
but because it was time
the paper peeled itself slowly
like skin that once held meaning
i stood beside the fork again
as if i’d been there all along
staring into the word
“stood”
until it starts to
hum back
cloud ankle
shadow blink
fork in time
cat won't think
plate's a mirror / hand’s a guess
i stood in it all
and left less
