Scrappers By Kirsty Miles

we’re scrappers    hunting    in bins and mouths    we spin on the tilted earth    unbalanced and our faces bare    my friends beside me, and the overgrown place, in front    there are hearts inside of us    we are gathered quietness    I am captivated by hints and the sip I took and the idea that there are worlds in the aftermath    my scabbed fingers pluck the infinite sequence of skies    there is an everyday    my feet take root in water    we feel the gentle touch of the same wave   our feet are parallel on the shoreline    toes as anchors    we are kids and also giants    we are messy when we breathe.