January Gill

 

Unnaming The World

 

My daughter says there’s a signal for water.
I ask her what she means and of course
she’s moved on to something else. She says this
under a sky the color of vellum—no water in sight.
We unname what we name, I guess.

There is a noise, the color of living, like a cello.

When she plays, I dream of rocks being thrown
into a swollen sea. Her hands, twin starfish. Either way,
my heart skips like gray stones that kiss the surface and fly
before sinking.

When we fly, we find our fire, she tells me.

Also, the blue part of a flame is the hottest and hurts the most.
That’s why we’re attracted to flames.