Damini, after the bus and in the street

There is nothing but air between us. The night outside
is soft and cool as we hum along city streets. Nothing

but air. This is a lie. The air holds so much we cannot
touch: heat, unfallen rain. Scent of grass, the dream

I spoke aloud last night. This is how I learn what ruins
are in me – their hands on my windpipe, my best online casino ankles.

Bruising the soft skin below my radius and now the air
changing color before my eyes. There are bolts lining

the back wall of the bus and it is strange how we see
human faces in everything. What light comes through

the window panes? The bolts grin and wink as if they
know a secret they cannot tell. Everything is not what

I want. Just to wake up. To wake up alone. What can
be found when the sun breaks the clouds in this place

that is said to be close to the heavens: a rusty iron rod
stained with blood. My hands unable to clench themselves

into a fist. My body inside out
and waiting in the brush.