IT'S WINTER BUT

there was a summer I was drenched and
salt crusted by the Costa Brava waters,
rays of sun settling — into the deeper layers
of my skin at 3:33 in the’s middle
of an unbraided hair, sticky heat night
while I tracked Orion and Venus with
a free app and dissolved entirely
into books on sacred geometry,
six pounds of suitcase space surrendered,
settling — into the deeper layers
of my skin and after the tides of sleep returned
me to the waking shore I would see shapes
in everything. My cacao spiraled and my silence
rested whole in invisible circles. The heat
of that summer passed but what settled —
into the deeper layers of my skin remained,
microscopic formulas nestled in my cells
that speak through me as human words.
I wonder if you know, as you read this,
you’re drinking that same sweet summer
wine of tetrahedrons with torus notes?
They say summer loves don’t last but this one
settled so deep within my skin, a language I drank
to remember, blended so deliciously. I cannot
separate the different parts. What is word?
What is shape? Once it returns to the womb
of form can it ever be whole without the other?