Ecdysis
One more drop, one more
day, of blood, of water, of venom,
of hatchlings, of loose eggs in the dark
hunching husk of the body, one more
flick, another thing or another, some straw
and some run-amok camel’s loose
hump. He counts grass blades
and sand grains and days and days and days.
He counts the hairs of his arms, the forming
scales, the watery veins. The flesh is fleshy,
too much, too ugly. The water is persistent,
a tipping point. One more order,
one more flit, one more seasick creature
winding the legs. Trust will never be
restored. Better off far from the waves,
skin kept in a bottle.
