Let me be your empty diary shapeless and 
unnamed next to closet codes next to 
the count of beats spent the score of a season 
blank pages run to margin and spine

Do this on days when you starve for sun  when 
you train your legs to be prosthetics baking on  
the hood of your jeep a Lookout taking  
field notes of West Virginia of Colorado 
of lands with a cliff for every jumper of 
Piney woods sloped to limestone where men
will brew your coffee settle at your bedside 
and swear your hair looks best in tangles

Offer me this even though I never learned 
to trust anyone who speaks in a single voice that
I’m only roped by the knots I tied myself have
wound black snakes around my neck and swam
deadlifts  cut in slate  stalked ridgelines to barbwire
leave me unwritten rooted deep in the soil 
Of the unsaid