MOTHSONG

With a stone in my shoe
and wearing an itchy jumper,
I tried to explain I had a splinter;
how my hand felt vacant,
and all I needed was a shoulder.

With a punctured lung and jaw lock,
I tried to explain how a wolf can never cry;
how only a swan can sing it’s song,
a moth can sing nothing.

But only a desolated murmur passed my lips.
I had forgotten she sewed them up
the first time I opened them.

Cocoon shed eyes look different.
She was curled up like a lizard
with her spine facing me.
She may have been asleep
or she may have just been ignoring me.

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