Outlier

You know the point
where brain fringes fuse,    
they underlap,    
only seen  
at end  
decayed    
by someone curious.  
Those carvings exist
of how you were made,    
how I was made,    
how we were finished
under our skin.  
I want to peel back  
on sunny days,    
bloodless blooms  
turned brown and crisp,    
see stories  
through hollowing,  
never seen  
by disappearing wind,    
crashing waves.    
I think that's  
how perhaps you've    
appeared before me,  
a timeless known,  
an ancient world  
muted,   
a map brought to words,  
a melted night of wildfires,
each caught and preserved  
in the blink of an eye,  
truths, fermenting,
melodies carried
in pale hands
settled down,  
once seemed mans,    
but now
the entity before,
the tender banished mind  
fragile, unlocked and locked tightly,
the true overlap

as
all of us      
are outliers  
reaching for life.