Pistons Hiss in Blue Distance

It’s silly to have, because it doesn’t work, the days
Are propped with numbers to dispel my disbelief.

I’ve started to grow young again--
Drawn in and beneath your angry footsteps, writing
Across the squares of our history,

I’ve marked your day
But have no fingers to take it off
No eyes to read your warm mouth with--

I’m a child now, drawn up upon this, and

Soon, mother will take me back.

You’ve marked this but there’s no voice to read it with.
You marked it when you came here,
Looking for me, and I wasn’t there, useless
Fluttering upon the wall, and

No mouth to touch your with