Maybe,
we will both still be saved
from this nameable thing,
from this well-known disaster
that we have failed a million and one times to walk away from.

If I know
what it is,
if I
can so easily
carry it's name in my mouth,
why
is it so hard
to shake it off?

To leave it shivering
at the feet of the mountains,
where I go to face wolves
always half-hoping I won;t come back down

To sink it
tied in knots around stones and shells and beach glass
into these deep tide pools
where I linger to think about drowning

Perhaps,
it is this knowing
that makes it so hard to let go of,
that gives it it's power to stay,
it's ability
to appear so commonplace.

Every time
I say it's name
it grows root
that reach down my throat
anchoring themselves
on my very bones.