that morning, I didn’t need to raise my head to know
your presence, the weight
of your heart in mine, enclasped and bathed in the languid waters of time
trickling, slowly, down the nape of your neck
and
pooling
unceremoniously in fissures and
to-be-fulfilled intentions
Before you were sick, you were ignorant. For all the words and sentences you had accumulated, your consciousness was blank; unmarked snow covering scarred earth below. Before you were sick, you were cocooned.
Words scatter
don’t scare them away
we tread with trepidation -- slowly, they gather
again
My soul
is the sea-skimming air
that whistles through young children’s shells,
mimicking siren calls
It is
the hurricane gusts
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