Bones and all

Filthy spat-on window and past it the world filthier still

Bones and all, I parcel into plastic and glass
      imagine grass under feet, rash and prickling with life
      imagine air in lungs, not coating, not sticking
          the lungs of the earth still
                                      spread
                                            and
                                      breathing
                      talking through touch of mushroom,
fungal flutter filing reports of drought, disease, human tread;
          crowns overhead, dignified and never touching
Not much room for full lungs under
all this plastic and glass

Shallow shallow graves,
dig up dust with my toe nails
            little by little
  hard soles of feet wear
           down the stones
           unknot abandoned vessels of those lost lungs

Cooler, deeper, down
      fidget dust through fingers
      air through lungs
      hopes through filthy spat-on window.
When rain comes I will not drown.