By: James Diaz

this thing I called
my life
constant
driftwood
every winter
something essential
was lost
my heart beat slower
I showed you once
the place
where my skin trailed off
trauma curled signatures
and the blue frost digging in
you smiled
head against the window
like all this would pass
and when it didn’t
I flattened
to the shape of my birth
like a prayer drug
hid beneath an old tree
I took to the earth with my hands
searching for impossible promises
the good lives some people must have
because they truly deserve them
I was a thief on my knees
that night
a true believer
and I would’ve took everything I found
and made it mine.