with an echo in the
chamber
let go of loss, its
empty space is not
a foundation, the notches
carved
across your
breastbone are not
the only way to
hold space
dispel the value
you have
tied to his verses,
his mouth will tell
tales, memories
will twist knots
around your wrists,
the spaces between
will creak and moan
with each exhale
stop leaving breadcrumbs
let him find his own
way, tracing back
from north to
south, you were not his
woman standing in
the doorway, as the
moon dove deep
inside the mirror
© 1.22.2018
heather brager
Zdzisław Beksiński |