Pull her out, now kick her back in—
She knows the cave better than you,
The fire calls her but it’s a sin,
Tell her how to begin anew.

Her eyes see no stars from under,
She whispers the mud in her lungs
Dear friend, would you be her armor?
**** those butterflies on the run!

She’s dragging herself on the sand,
Before dark creeps, go from the sea,
The drowned ones are calling her hand—
Heed those not, do you hear? Heed me!

Lay down with her and you might find
The grave where she buries her eyes,
Rain keeps trailing her from behind
She gambles with light through a dice.