Climb a mountain, sink to the sea –
all in search of you.
I scratched my feet on rocks this morning –
didn’t see them with the sunlight shadow boxes over my toes.
Knowing where you hide and where to find you
not unlike nursing a rattlesnake – fingering it’s scales, wanting to pop them off one by one.
I have found I’ve lost myself as much as I’ve lost you
in this crushing love – barreled chest caving in from a thicket of silence –
and the lack of you.
Stains of you tarnish my eyes – that rattlesnake back on top of my brain, scoring it –
invisible weals inside my spirit cannot float.
Instead, they are pasted on like poorly mixed plaster.
The spirit should not be still,
while mine sits in quietude
in a garden where sticks lay split with inaffection.
And there you are, having kicked through brambles, rolled through
dried seeds and rotting fruit like that dying apple everyone has bitten into.