A furrow runs all the way across the bruise,
the pool of pain trembles like the heart of a sparrow.
Can a salve soothe the soreness where your lips dug
burrows in my skin, drawing lines with minerals
found on the hill we climbed sick with love?
Ash blows over the field blinding the eyes of flowers,
paper kite on the tree makes a noise of deep breathing;
a gasp in the throat where stabs of your words leave marks –
only blunt but they create a hollow where the wood of desire