(ephemeral)

I need
my own
secret
language
so I don't
have to
write in
the margins
in the
cracks.
I need
to not
fear
my own
language
so that
margins
don't matter,
so that
cracks catch
what can be claimed,
without apology without boundaries without
a self to censor.

Decode the raised veins
(an ephemeral riverbed)
and then name these hands.
Forget the lines;
my palms are present.