1825.

Time smudges the small
memories between us but
the feelings remain.

1824.

And on those ghosts run
and float within my split ribs,
my mother and hers.

1823.

Always left praying
that between us the ground won't
split. Set, division.

1822.

Bodies are bent as
furniture and lit like shrines.
Soul's genuflecting.

1821.

The psalms of belief
are etched in my spine and spilled
from my veins. Bleeding.

1820.

The unrelenting
sky stalks us in clouds and soft
shadows. Following.

1819.

Infatuation
creeps in on insidious
feet. Soft destruction.