There was lightning in the clouds that night–
Murky and bubbling waves-
Tribulation was precision struck against the tattered forms we
made after years of light-breathing and warmth-spreading
I am still yearning to pass down this breath-
to find solace in the meandering of my grasswoven
childhood memories of sunlight filtered into torn bodies.
Scrapes filled in with nothing but the hopes of scars.
I still make the sign when I look up at the moon.
three fingers crossed over my heart, in
prayer to my own gods and
Maybe the solace comes from knowing
I haven’t ever stopped the prayers
for you, too.
You still have a place in the night,