in the darkness of my pre-self 
spiders came to knit. dice in their mouths.
when we hold hands, i am looking for our burials. 
venus stands always on the crest of a hill. dead lovers.
dead children. a spattering of lute strings.
hanging clotheslines for the heart. divination
comes like a window you must run towards.
tracing where we will end & you will find someone new. 
a string i pull & find moons i didn't know
i have to spend. i give you a bracelet so that
we can spend another thirty years playing tug-of-war.
i am crooked tree branches. a two-headed snake.  

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.