the seabed still remembers
sunlight upon its skin
a cobweb of strings
poured from the cross
that control our limbs
the horizon howled
snow swept the streets
bright
as a blackbirds beak
light stuck
between your teeth
eyelashes
on fire
my hand a sparrow
dreaming in the bowl
of your palm
stories to temper steel to
when the story falls silent
the folds folded
asleep inside the blade
I think of the wish
whispered
into a wine bottle
at the end of a party
I wonder
when will it break
be set free
granted
will it be
when you most
need it
when your life
in more pieces
than the glass
than sand
you’re the leaves that foxtrot
with the tatters of a plastic bag
in the blustery corner of my deserted courtyard
become young again
twirled by the world-weary wind
that still remembers how to dance
the ghost of fireflies
froth from the fractured minds
of the thistles
the burning breeze
flakes the fields
you are the stained light
staining the stone
the church ceiling
crumbled into cabbage whites
shadows shattered
into black butterflies
caves will call
to the sky
sky will become
ceiling
how the wind
hisses a sigh
through the reeds
how the sea sings
far inland
to know light from my pages
reflected into your face
sunk into the sea glass of your eyes
to know light from your face
snowed blossom into the dark
of my words
we breathe in
the dark of each other