If the ghosts are tugging too hard
if the night is biting at your ribs
I will stack pillows
like sandbags
and build trenches out of sheets—
I will catch you.

If you need a slow honey embrace
let the night fall around us—
in bursts of burnt orange
and hazy purple
I will trace 'Calliope' on your bare back
catch you where the dark softens.

If you need—
I will leave weapons
and blades at the door,
become your open palms—
I will catch you.