Thank you for holding my wrists
while I grieve.
The gash is recovery, wide and invisible,
yawning in the shade
of your wing. Feathers over spikes,
hedgehog in hiding.
Forest green and swirls of sunlight,
we breathe and don’t.
or do I mean blindness?
Smudge lines and smoke from charcoal—
space and no space
need you nearer
until there is nothing between.
A shock of water brings me back.
The color washes off without loss…
I dip my fingers in it
and streak the sky