can I weave light into your hair?
can you bury your hands in this soil
spring-blessed, tongue-tied
written over with empty lines of ink-
we blink once and the story should unwrite itself,
lead pulled away from tattooed skin
we blink once, one heart too much.
crop circles on your skin
(I, too, turned the compass half-asleep)
to be kissed from blood-red into gold,
weave light into the threads
of all there was before
wounded treasure, history yet unknown
together or alone,
mirror to mirror or glass on its own
