Day eight.


The first three days were like an exhale

After months of cocooning

All the moths in my chest


But each day after that I coughed up sand

That had crept past teeth and under eyelids

When I thought I had clothed myself


I lay on this shore numb as the cool water

Weathers away my flesh and sinew

And only grief finds a home in my shell


It wasn’t big enough for both of us


And so here we are


And so here we aren’t.