the earth around my skin is more

home than home could have ever been.

my sinking fingertips cut and

bleed into the soil, bleed into

prayers that flash red

on your face and in

my sight. no sea monster could rise

in these black bottomless eyes; the

songs choke themselves to the blue of

our forgotten ghosts - the ghosts of

loss who have forgotten to haunt,

to be real outside of our

abandoned relics, outside our

destitute, neglected bodies.