dust, maybe, never mine

this picture i keep blurs into the gasoline, swirling until i nurse a blood nose and i'm singing. i smile, and it stings, and i name the shapes, really just chasing them back to smaller bones, thumbing at rings of so many taller trees.

i hear autumn, my car keys, your stare. still, i have fucking tried, to understand your sparrow pieces, and how they chip at mine.