at the far end of this burning wasteland,
with mud sucking to your feet
and a bone stuck firmly in your tooth, you see him.
you do not know it yet, but you call out for each other.
your song seems out of place among the
dirt-strewn roads and empty plastic bags and
back-alley gas stations, but he hears you.
you do not know it yet, but he does not understand.
iii. his ears bleed. you fumble. you quiet.
iv. you stand outside a barn door,
hearing his doubt, his impatience.
but you are struck with something which has no name,
listening to his voice, so you stand outside a barn door.
the last time you heard it, it was screaming the word “please”.
you are suddenly aware of the thump, thump
in your borrowed chest, of the breaths you take
and the wind kissing your skin, and he looks at you.
you do not know it yet, but it chips at you.
vi. his soul alights. you fumble. you fall.