Cold light crawls
across the lawn,
stains the crocuses red.
Dawn claims the waking earth,
savage in its taking.
Your fingers glide along mine,
the blanket,
the wet loam beneath,
but you are no more mine
than nature is under God’s dominion.
You live doubly these days.
You are here
and elsewhere,
lodged in the silver cracks
between life
and nowhere.
At night,
you are silent as you wear my skin,
as you unload your pain
drape it over furniture in a room
I have molded for you
inside me.
I let you grieve
as you come
pouring cold breath
against my throat.
In the dark,
we watch your wounds reopen.
In the dark,
I see your eyes shutter
as I begin to sew.
