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