The broken yellow line disappears into the dark ahead. My rear-view mirror— boundless black, trapped in our mother’s womb, each other’s arms. Trapped in
I never dream of winter woods, though there is space enough for us here, clear air fit for exhaling into mist, whistle-thin around my
What rewards the body the body a soldier / the body a name / a holiness before sleep. Say you understood / say nettles