Please

Please,

will you kiss
a highway through
the marshes
around my head and
open what has been closed?

Will you plunge
your learned fingers
through to my core
and coax that shadow
out into light and heat?

Will you please
soak my bones
in acid and make them
writhe? It’s been so long
since they tripped,
felt anything except
their dark muscle blanket,
their tendon tethers
holding them to
prescribed paths.

I’m not lonely
so much as empty,
not empty so much as
clueless as to what
fills me.

So please,
come and throw
corn meal on me
the way you’d dust
a warm but incomplete loaf
of good bread. 

Come
in my eyes and wash them
the way you’d flush out
a poison;
the only floods they’ve ever known
are their own. 

Bring me
to completion,
to myself.  Please,
teach the stunted parts of me
a lesson about how to
surge, grow,
and fly.