Were these not the hands we used to sever opensummer melons? Yesterday wasonly decades ago. You eat into & through yourself. Like prayerthat won’t. That can’t. Likepretending your ribs won’t scar you the longer you breathe. In the openair is another shape ofanother moon you’ve left behind to the day-light entering your body like hunger. We had the handsof gods—for only a summer.Which is to say: sugar touching a tongue touching anothermelts against the sound ofcicyúuk’is because first the body demands usto be bruised with need—with our lives askingto be more than cages—but cageswe unlock & leave behind like our rough-skinned fathers’ quieted gates of bone.