my hand a sparrow
dreaming in the bowl
of your palm
you’re the drafts of dusk
that sifts the rusty rafters
songlines become sighlines
replaced my heartbeat
with the syllables of your name
I don’t think about the thorns
I think about the blackberries
of your love
how they reveal the labyrinths
of my fingerprints
that touches the dark
trying to find your face
is love
the performers
performing for themselves
a slow show
once the wings
of the main show
packed away
instruments played gentle
as injuries
bells hold onto
all the peals struck
from the dark
of their bodies
a forever home for shadows
hung in the wind
that whips whispers
from their stillness
light a candle
with me
all night
we’ll watch
the lowering
of the flag
of its flame
how the wind
hisses a sigh
through the reeds
how the sea sings
far inland
close the gate gentle
make it chime
close it like a delicate thing
as if just leaving
looking in
upon a sleeping child
isn’t that how hearts
should be handled
footsteps made faint
by grass
no knock required
no doorbell
rattling the rooms
just the soft cry
of a rusted hinge
the cry of church bells
across the city
serpents of scent
wrapped round your wrists
heart a grate
full with ash
carried out
to the garden
on a warm
windy night
I write to you
to keep you near me
just before the kiss
push me back into the world
like ghosts do
when the living get too close
the scent of skin
too much
they push away
because they long too much
for what they’ve lost
they want you too stay
in the world
you because
you don’t want to hold
what will be lost
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