And mixing
wounds and words
in the midnight,
I lingered on an
epitaph
that glistened in
the moon and
listened to the raven
and the mockingbird
repeat your name
over and over
like a mantra.
If we could howl
and awaken,
intuition building,
breathing,
heaving,
we would rise
to help and heal
this screaming earth
and her surroundings.
Could I just
rub up against you,
slow slight touches
early in the morning,
kissing down your back
at all hours,
as the clock ticked by
in different languages
and hushed tones.
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