You do not need to tell me who you are.

Instead listen to a wreath, a temper unfold.

Listen, feel, then behold

A gentleness broken inside itself, flourishing against the pieces

Your hidden stories limned the edges of your gaze

Unashamed of the buttons that were left untouched

Your unquiet longings vivid in your breath

You finish nothing; once again, time running like a child told

With a half-glance, you fathom the splendors of these strange planes

And just like that, like that, this is gone

Only the tendrils of your despair unspooling in the silence

While bristled bunches of joy dismantle your sovereignty thru one notice, one glance

Keep the leavings of this bitter season deep in your chest and behind your eyes

Tell me instead what you see when you look.