Leaking Forms, A Past
by
Ximena Keogh Serrano
There, there in the shadowy figurines of pastness
thrills of communion emerge,
cut through the stiff crevices of time
to reveal things—
The self that no longer is
a matter of hunger and dream.
The languid disaster of memory
slicing the nude canvas.
The delicate tremors
still pulsing through bone.
A pause to observe
The selves becoming
loose desires
inchoate.
