. . . one like a black-and-white movie,
or one from the eighties - with grainy pictures -
almost with a layer of dust covering the film.  A narrow,
compressing heartbeat stammering through trails
of scratches across porcelain skin.  Black eyebrows, or
perhaps the sort paler than dry ice.  Creases in eyelids
in three-dimensional ultrasounds and fine baby hair.
Muted prayers, coagulated thoughts.  Reddened whites of
eyes and flushed cheeks (shame, creation, lust; prerequisites of contentment).
Sharp corners or rounded ones with wrinkles - thumb knuckles, surely.  Car
horns.  Persistent coughing in the night.  The sleep of the very meek.