floating and leaving no trace
breaking like
a guitar string breaks
after fat fingered fret pressing
digging into tips
(calloused or not)
trenches or primordial scar tissue
(or not)
all vibration
either in air or universal ether
ceases
no chance to make a chord
now
that the single strand
has
snapped
shuddering sun
or is it
the world moving
breaking
beneath our feet
i reach for your hand
count the rings
of your fingerprints
brushing against my own
there is no darkness
only birth
there is no light
only the song
of your breathing
the heart is a room
full of windows
walls made of brass
you sigh
and your sigh is
a tuning fork
pitched to break glass
to bend metal
do the shattered panes
let in light
or only blood
a piece of me, a fractured piece of me
and a piece of you, just as jagged
they try to fit to together
–teeth of mismatched gears–
where motion should be smooth
instead the sound of snapping glass bones
screams of angels with cinder wings
bits and pieces falling wetly to the floor
the machinery stops so we mop up the blood
and try again
each time there is less and less of me left
each time there is less and less of you left
this is why we break
unevenly matched where there should be symmetry
but when the gears meet at last–we transcend
Words and Feathers 