In Which She Is

Burned, in which she is the fire

embers spark in our dark open
             chests, smoke where
             fire licked &
                                    kissed on open palms
we write ash
you ignite,
            scorch & reflect
                      not yet glass

Howl, in which she is the wolf

the keening roar
through eyelid & bone &
our offered throats
            skins
                        ribs
                                   bare feet
where warmth was hunger
            was fang
was soft panting, anguish full

Drift, in which she is the fog

a thick ache,
            tongue coated, her memory
            slips slick with salt & silver
low-lying weight where a
                        name
                        used to be
we stain the air with forgetting
press shapes into the skin