Bones, Take 2
I found myself stitched
on the inside of winter’s bone,
an inscription carefully woven
into a worn childhood sweater.
The stained earth read
like letters from two long, lost, lovers;
Weathered, hardly legible, torn at the edges
Disintegrating into the dirt
with the imprint of unheard whispers and an old life
I used to know where our footprints stopped,
but the river is constantly weeping.
Etch your story into the dirt and watch the river fade it away.
The river will meet the dirt,
and the dirt will meet the river again
But that’s the problem with that small border
where dirt meets river.
There was never a clear distinction between what is,
and what isn’t.
We will never be able to compete with Mother Nature.
The bruised land will always be land
The gritty cracked dirt will always be dirt.
We were, and we are not.
These things weren’t meant to last.
Every pin bunching up the seams
of each infinite night sky
sears into me.
I am forever charred by your burning eyes.
I found my love stitched
in the arctic winds that seep deep into my bones;
in this loss of sleep I find
that I cannot fix this fracture.
