unfinished

I have an encapsulated goal held tightly within my palms
tethered to fingers so obstruction never follows
not even in mirrors, not even in film
I etched words to the insides of my thighs,
to remember the night that I dreamt of animals
fighting against the wind
coalescing with the land
falling into graves, into Hades, into the depths of the ocean,
wandering in their own worlds, in their own minds
carried away by feathered emotion,
by balloons full of jovial breath,
I carved these iambic syllables into my fur,
into my olive-coloured hope,
shoved into some skin
worn away by age
worn down by heartless discrepancies
tattered, bruised, and haggard,