Broken sounds.
Rediscovered signals.
This path is guided
within each of your breaths.
I draw lines,
getting erased
at the last of your heartbeats,
leaving me with a rhythm
I cannot ignore
when it is you
I abhor.
I was close
to a corpse who breathed,
someone who hoarded flesh
upon everyone’s death,
everyone who she
ever wept for
as they bled upon
a naked floor.
Those rhythms, sounds,
broken like ground zero
of a waterfall.
A point in which
all tears eventually
go on, leaving wild animals
to cross quenching waters,
as random droplets
are solidified
into steppingstones.
Rediscovered signals,
because I do not cross.
I give all heart
to the blue
coloring of this painted
river, along an earthen body
of unknown dead,
of recurring dread.
I rediscover
what I do not cover.
I remember,
when I cannot dismember
loose-leaves that are attached
to those branches within spring,
written with histories of autumn.
Modern Romanticism 