I thought you were
my tourniquet. I was bleeding
a slow death.  I looked to you
to hold the dam, not lose myself

to what I am. You wrapped
around me firm and tight. Then
took off like a flock of geese
in flight. Like a bomb blew up

I lost my limbs in colored
glass painted crimson. You cut
the cord without a clamp. Pulled
the plug from the table lamp.   I stand

a tree without branches. You blew
all your last chances. But I can bend
in the wind and regrow my limbs
again.