In my hands rest words I couldn’t bring myself to eat
they rose up my throat like a tree roots itself into the ground
I plucked the leaves from my mouth
and wrote my simple query,
“who told me I could not stay?”
“who told me I must go away?
then left them in the air to float
amongst quandaries of maple and oak
wrapping my head in black webbing
and taking off my shoes as a presentiment
and a gesture of compliance
as I wait for the day

One foot follows concrete ground
and the other
on cracks where weeds push up and up
we dig deeper into clay and crumb
to seek answers; to not succumb

and when a silent spell enchants our words,
that float on wire as cormorants at hollow,
I cannot see past gritted teeth
and days grow tall as they grow wide
leaving space for cogitation
to run for miles
until it tires and turns to marsh
soaked
in watery sun

i wish upon three taps of your finger
as you take my photo in a slow depression
floating on oil stained river beds
lit by moon-age day-dreams of my future tears
which fall in twos down the front of my shirt

i want you to drink them

in letters in the shape of a name
or a word
I sense the breaking dawn
of a lachrymose smile
glassy glazen puffy knotted

in an agreement between gods
together, they sing
“to be bright is to be scarred,
and pain is to beauty
as sun is to mars”
both sacred as stars
both beckon beyond the caverns of Golgotha

in my stomach aches turned sour
my mouth burns at the mere thought of speaking
I do not want another year
or month
or week
or day
I do not want forever
I want never
ever
ever
ever
to exist inside this prison
of hearts breaking hearts broken

in my witching hour
with sympathy leading the way,
I collect pieces of the future
and stuff them in my pockets
to save for myself
and nobody else