Josh Auerbach - i know the word supine

i

I know the word 'supine', the edge of scalpel
the osteopath's blunt manipulations. I know
reclined, the angle of the sky from flat
on the ground, drugged as waves pass, then winter.
I know the lung's breath horizontal
column on column, the lopsidedness
of a wolf in another skin. I know vanishing
points, the way light splits into dark then back
if you stare at it too long. I know the spacious
blue of day, the gyproc with cracks.
The web stretching from corner to corner, dangling
threads in the meditation room. Dust gathered by years
The smooth roll off the bed, to ice and heat. Supine
Is marrow, washes in blood, digs to coccyx.

ii
Supine waits and cannot stand.
Supine breathes the flat. Supine
moves along, stung by the eyes of angels.