praise:

I count your vertebrae like stones
stretched across the river
that yawns in the open night.

You gnaw at my ribs and birds fly free.
We are splayed like fish.
I wear you close as an orange to its peel.

You, such a lion in sheep's skin;
what have you come for?
To count my vertebrae,
count them like stones

I, your casualty
and the river rushing,
the open skin,
and the teeth of night.