sarah borror poetry

some licked 
mornings, in 
direct sunlight 
through crosshairs
past the stairs
of barnstone
I’d uproot the 
entire earth 
for you,
one clod
of soil
per inch
lost from
grief, we
can dig to
the center, 
find our lost
galoshes 
the streamer’s
glisten in
our eyes’
wake just
watch while
the sod levels
as we kiss