Tracing His Veins

by Matthew Paskins

‘…His…countenance, on which
I gazed so long, I thought
The world could be reformed by gazing, too’

Laid by his skeleton, a crystalline
calcium structure, he sleeps
on a mattress.

Protein has formed, like tendrils of wood,
growing from roots into limbs
and branches. They serve the
same muscular function, but some silhouette
in air the air, while others spread out.

What lies and could be found
beneath the skin is all that matters here,
scaled off at the mouth, which pouts.
Sleeping, he feels the soil watching him;

His arms have clutches of veins at their surface
and grab at the cover spread over his legs.
Half-hidden, his belly swells, then sinks.