Oh this felt-lined heart,
with all that cotton bloom filling
maybe I’ve grown some soft once again

In time, the mossy dank dark
shrunk as if the sun exploded
& chased down its rentless rays

Think of the hands of the clock
Thinking of his hands
& all that empty tenderness

The thing about exploding
is that no one puts you back together
& ragdoll courage will be all you’ve got