this knotted darkness

trace the wall
with your hand

I can hear the bellows
of your lungs
I can smell you

there’s a murderous logic
at work here
a system

I’m trying not to cry
trying to hold onto
images and words

elsewhere
someone sharpens a knife

the half moon is a sail
pulling cloud boats
across the night
or so I imagine

sorry
you were saying?

I think
I lost the thread

—–

This poem was written for Transformations, a new take on Ovid’s Metamorphoses.