St. Michel

Milk in coffee
along the toes
foam carried on the backs of snakes
Buoy waking nowhere
climb to birds
to see god
right
through stained glass
broken
bones in coffers
rich
long ago

Gods fingers in the
basement lit by
souls burning for
him
to peer

Balancing act
upon the hips
of each one
strangers at home
The home

Run down
bent
streets bowing
forwards
the seat that
traps
our eyes;