The child in the shell
is a tiny piece
of nail,
a string
of hair,

is a
shard
of scattered
looking-glass
a face
you can't
efface

it is the summer
in the desert
the flesh you lost
in flight

The child in the shell
is the scarlet fever
the blue-skinned baby
that won't stay
down

The scorched cheek of
a mistake,
life and breath
drawn with sin
shaped like suns

The child in the shell
an image floods
the times you left
yourself
to drown
in blood