the proverb goes:
you who sit in a house of glass
shall not throw stones

but i just keep throwing them
towards the ceiling
and the walls - windows to my soul

because an exit wound is an
entry wound on the other side
and at least i am in control

coming back to you like the rain revisits time and time again
washing over your valleys and mountaintops

little by little your layers disappear
you are left a clean surface
your forgotten shimmering through

and every layer you’ve ever had is shed, a second skin
everything you’ve ever feared spills out from your ears
and every summit you’ve climbed peeks out at your belly
every wound you’ve suffered shimmers from underneath the surface
oceans of tears like puddles filling up your collarbones to the brim

you’re a landscape full of forgotten things

I am a little peck in the distance,
easily swept away by the slightest gush of wind
and the most miniscule wave.
Crushed among the rocks I see a clock,
it’s counting counting down
until we are not wandering upon the face
of the earth anymore.

Where I go no one else goes.
Where you go I cannot go.
We’re a distance apart
and nonetheless we are in the same nutshell
on this earth-shattering ocean which roars
and roars and will not stop.

This is the table where we break our bread
and all of you are invited
to share the cup of bitterness.

Oh, taste and see how eternity embraces you,
how the broken shards merge together,
we become family again.

You do not ask for glory and give nothing
in return.

I whelve into mere existence
disappearing into the gloom where
you will find me beneath
heartbeat woven into lace.

Around me it is somber
and I am a whisper in silence.
My breath wounds itself around
me like pearls on string.