Do you remember dashing through sheaves of pampas grass

until we were in that breathless light?

Milling through the darkness with frayed hope;

our hands still with pallid knuckles of rural decay.


An umbilical tug of energy – tender and unsettling.

We passed bridges like blood lines

where ducks freckled the water plain,

gliding and sending a sonar signal across that Adam’s ale.


Birds shook from the trees and the wind scalped our skin like a tin roof in a cold wind.

With a hunters moon and arrows on our back for the night,

there was an anarchy of feeling in our bones and I said,

‘Go, and when you come back, bring the world with you.’


You found pieces of us so we could sleep on feathers and fear,

kneading breath and water; serving air and platitudes.

11 thoughts on “together

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