Bread and Blood


We are, each, alone.

Signalling in a language only I can cipher,

Sending bursts of light into a foggy sea,

I mouth my message too, as if lips' supplement

Could push light to the landfall, as if

My voice, like whalesong,

pounded through whole oceans.

Are you there? Is anyone? Is there anyone?

My mind makes mannikins:

puppets and grey ghosts.

My eye wills seeing them,

My ear wills hearing them.

They become, my artifacts.

And then, the soft collision.

Bodies meet, deaf and blind:

Hands here, lips there,

Flesh in flesh, muscle nursing blood,

Skins sparking static in their sightless friction.

Sparks light fire, fire makes light. And sound.

Genesis. For a moment, two I's, two you's,

And then, again, one. A whole one, connected.

We are, still, alone.

Poetry Writing Dancing Badger