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.