I meld my skin to blankets,
thick as glue
moving under them
is no small task
and I would rather
lie in the sun.

At first awakening,
the crowd is greeted
rises, casts no shadows,
words turn to ash
in their mouths,
and not one swallows.

My stomach hummed, asked me
"Do you remember what it was like
to wear layers
and not walls?"

There are still things marked,
scorched forever,
by some beauty, some fatality.
I would never kick leaves again,
never step in snow.

We are pulled from shelter, from shed
thrown in mud, pulled out of dirt.
I'm a framed picture, a flash bulb.
Recovering bodies, discovering oddities
Please remember, while I trust goodbyes
with you, it doesn't have to be true.