from One Wound in Another
Begin with a fact: most treatments for cancer at this stage are merely
Go to a wide field some windy afternoon. Look toward the horizon,
where the animals, one by one, will stutter out of view. Lie down in
what looks like the center. Grind the aching blue sky, if you can, to a
fine powder and scatter it across the dirt as you mouth the options.
Tuck those away in your pocket. Then, fiddle with your zippers and
pull up your hood.
We spent the day scooping paper
images of a woman’s face into low mounds
for wolves, static gradations
across the snowfield.
They would take her back to their dens.
We imagined ink from these prints
staining the muzzles of their young.
After her funeral, our bodies cut
slowly through the softened air.
We waited for a red door on the horizon,
a ship to take us out to sea.
winding yarn into a new cloudscape