The Dry Salvages

the cuts are deepening

I can see the red &

pink, the bones and the flesh searing as he falls

I watched her stab and the aimless knives, watched him

picked apart to half, rotten and shivering into my arms

I can hold him close

give him me, let his broken hand

wrap my waist and stick there like tentacle, like never before

I seek renewal, escape, & he needs comfort, a place to hide

so we’ll fly to the hills together, his single leg pushing forward

rising into the mists and creeping into the mountains

I must feel the depths of the hurt, gouge my hands between broken

ribs and stomach, pump life into dying heart bitten by moths,

grey and stone covered, melting across my fingers into chalk

we are pulling him back together, pushing

writhing  in the others’ grips, forearms filled with scratching madness

this is how I know he is alive, is feeling, is mine now

and as his smile cracks apart the dusted lips

I remember how to be his

how to be someone’s

& how to hold

a heart

like my own.


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