i know all the names
of the ways i feel
like spirits conjured
by firelight

i've studied my palms
with strained eyes
in the halos of lamplight
every crevice, every line,
all their predictions

i know the dirt under the nailbeds intimately

i can understand the failures of the mirror

and the resonance of all things
hollow or hallowed

and sometimes i can sing like that
and sometimes i wish
i could sing like that