Stitch

nude-woman-in-river-monica-and-michael-sweetShe left

like a thread

pulled through muslin

her pillow smelt

of the push of hair in night

turned in bad dream and

from me for so long

I had

held on

the capsize of our ship

drowning us both

outstaying oxygen to

feel her return

how she used to

take my hand in dark

placing it where she felt

the most

there is a varnished gulf

a painted arroyo

starched land thirsting for renewal

lapsing between us

and it will not be with me

her eyes have lost their glitter

when she turned

it was with the flat gaze of someone

who had already

closed that chapter

bought her ticket

and was reaching for the next

like an arrow

driving its way into my chest

and out again

the feeling of quills and feathers

pulled free by strung force

a sound of cascading hurt

almost like the world sighed

in the room that was once ours

by the violet light of afternoon

where I lay watching her move

in green light, the weight of dew

like words without meaning

I tore myself to pieces

unable to let go

of the ache she left

in her shattering wake

as pulling stitches when healed

will always feel

like something whole

is breaking