#bloodunderthebridge
After
the explosion
I found
pieces of you
in all my poems,
embedded shrapnel,
unclean words,
full of fever's fester.
I scrubbed the wounds,
massaged the scars,
repeating,
autumn is a doctor,
winter is a nurse,
night's blue sky body
arches over
the surgery of the gods,
poppy-soft, ocean-deep, capable
of illuminating
even
your lies.
~October 2013,
revised May 2014
Aug 13, 2025
Aug 13, 2025 at 10:55 AM UTC