some people think
I am a trodden-on sapling.
a pathetic thing
made up of fragile acronyms,
they think I should shake like
a tin full of thumbtacks.
should they feel afraid? 

I have seen rivets on
many wrists, on secret wrists;
heard the wailing
of secret mouths and
felt the fearful breath
of so many pairs of secret lungs
on my shoulder. 

not a trodden-on thing. no.
a swimmer in the naȉve sea –
a swallower of salty water,
I can’t deny.
but I never drowned
in the space between the cracks.
I am not afraid. are you?