if i am lost, i am always
on the cusp of twenty-five.
always, a humming in my blood.
if i am here, i am also lost,
but a room. a basin. here,
a whole relic. if i am lost, i am
daydreaming an entire city
inside of a breath. a locomotive
haloes, thrum of icons in my head.
a garden wonders what it will bloom
& i cannot speak because i do not know
the difference between gospel
& dirge. a church looks at me
like a question & the train completes
a revolution. a future, a narthex.
a basket of figs, a lamb.
– lauren elma frament