Loneliness this bladed cannot be had without tenacity. Every night I dance a slow salsa against the whetstone. Whittle talons. Shave angles to tines.
I would love to pull a hat off my head and use my dirty forearm to wipe away a hard shine. To sit with
Rain falls before the earth is formed here then everywhere the frogs cry, and the swamp swims closer through the reeds, water, and mud.