They showed us the skin,
ivory as parchment, traced
with a grid of shadows
like chain mail: not one
clean unblemished sheet
or sheath, but a rough
garment peeled off
in patches, slow
disrobing for the new
still writhing to break
loose of that dead self—
[LAG-signature date=”04 10 2014″ url=”http://morningporch.com/2014/04/159123907/”]