runs along bone,
opens the metal door,
and I slam it tight,
lean my back against it,
left heel planted.
Corivan is my newest character’s name
(stranger names have happened)
he could not heal
the wound of his falling ship/companion--
I’ll send you the story sometime safe
when the end has become the beginning again.
Relieving to feel your melancholy,
right through your hands,
the foggy land wrapping
and the sense you could settle your back against
a great tree—
that would be your icon today.
I understand; that’s where I write from,
where giggles don’t bubble up
and make a lonely space around me,
where nothing tries to mirror
and rain, like honest tears,