Whisper them if you must-
I know petty better
than this.
Avalanche and silence and nothing
and broken words that I need to feel
deeper than you can give.
For now, you say
anyway
I’ll try and hold that declaration
Pin it to my own cross.
palms pierced
blood as ink-
blood as binding.
My own workings
that I don’t call upon.
Their price is too much,
the magics too strong.
I’ll have to give up more
more than parts of myself
this time.
But I am slipping
Or are they pulling?
Towards that place again
that I felt was swallowed
by hearts and livers
last time.
I don’t pull things out of hats anymore,
much to my grandfather’s disappointment.
He was always one for parlour tricks and
hidden thumbs-
Can’t say I was ever to prestige,
but
deeper beings
don’t worry
about consequences
of giving freely
what should be earned.