Jessica

hands.

a body at rest.

fire cracks through tiny rivers, but

it is divine inspiration; sparks flying 

into the cradle of ideas.

the body is a vessel. it sits

patiently, because it cannot walk;

a mermaid in the laboratory.

she is buried in paper, embalmed

in ink; but

speaking louder than ever, seeing farther than ever

unbound from wounded flesh, a perfect galaxy

of constellations

of stardust, collisions in nervous space.

she lives swallowed in fire that will never go out

but it gives not cinders, but synthesis