walk: a true story

Last night, I sat on the edge

of the river and yelled out into the blackness

admitting the truth, clinging to the ground before I fell

headlong into the black-encased stars.

You held me down with a hand. We talked of

broken wrists and cold mists. As

always, the rushing of water calmed and with it

flowed away the things that were wrapped around my eyes –

I saw the treetops silhouetted, chilled fingers losing flesh-leaves

as I fear the skeletal, I hope

you will not let me hide when the winter comes.

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