(1.)

this is me

reshaping the cracks
into roots      of healing
into     veins
patiently awaiting a light
that   sky
is   yet to dream of.

(2.)

this is me

letting the hairs on my skin
hum along
to the grieving
wind
as it washes
the pale underbellies
of the leaves
with echoes of birdsong.

(3.)

This is me

walking back my promises
ripping seeds from the earth
and stuffing them back
under my tongue

as not to let our goodbyes
sit there like a weed
in our perfect plot
of forget-me-nots.

(4.)

This is me

six months in
and still refraining
from luring fireflies into my lungs
as a substitute for love.

(5.)

this is me

(still) resisting the river
at the point
where the journey extends
only through letting go
of the sheer violence of form

waiting and seeing
if I too
can weep myself back together
or if this time
I will really stay gone.