share the snowfall
from a streetlight with you
shoulders dusted with shine
sky packed too tight
bruised blue
needs to split itself open
thunder the wedge
hammered into the heart
of the stone
of the sky
the white of a waterfall
the moon hiding half its face
you are the stained light
staining the stone
the church ceiling
crumbled into cabbage whites
shadows shattered
into black butterflies
you speak in song
sing to the robin
about how your heart
rusted red
the poplars are still
silver shivers inside
ripples repeating themselves
within the pillars
of their trunks
you’re the moth-eaten moths of memory
the torn tapestry of my life
its seams of moonlight
scars become skin
caves will call
to the sky
sky will become
ceiling
ghosts aren’t only
what has been
they’re also
what never happened
echo of songs
never sung
never listened to
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
your heart
more scar than tissue now
you’re scarring the scars
held together
by threadbare threads
my frayed feathers
stroke the sky
from the ground
the cry of church bells
across the city
serpents of scent
wrapped round your wrists
silver poplars shiver
with the echo of light
wind gathers in the trees