Atunement

On the colour:

I am browned and pocked, dotted with scab, scarred, white-pink puckers touring each skin. calico, a mottle of blood and mud clotting spotted in asphalt specks. 

Would-be catalog:

1. right ankle, kicked
2. left ankle, turned, yesterday, favoring right down a crooked stair
3. thumb swells tender
4. and red sharp, like drying, like a cold-split lip

Here are my smallest promises.  Here is a trick to remember my name.
And each correspondence drifts two closer, coordinating responses, collaborating
on what is real between them, what is one current creeping, or
the thrum of not-yet-tuned, between two strings - a dissonance bead
beating ever slower.