she handed me an echo
downcast
a guarded glimpse
winding
it grew vines
from the etchings on
her wrists
so many years of me
unwrapped
I heard her sigh
it wavered in her sails
a plea to meet
my eyes
through her open window
she burned rivers of her own
she couldn\'t know in all her smoke
the words that I
had thrown
or how many moons
the same I rocked her by
in sickles and reflections
crying
singing
she and I
somewhere beneath her feathers
on the paper where she cries
hope is a hemorrhaging
ocean
that salts this flesh of mine