Given a wing, what would you fashion

How to precisely describe the condition
of being cloven?

In the past participle, this word might resemble a weed
we hunt in the grass, its fourth leaf brimming

with the old  myths  of childhood, with the promise
of being the one a hand might pick

out of a hundred nearly identical copies in the field—
And is there a word  for the new  

scar inflicted by your silence? for how it’s fallen
on a threshold where we’ll walk, knowing

every other door is barred from within? In this world,
the cold, hard bread of the moon leaves

a trail for the broken 
to follow: they come to the water
looking for a thistle, a lily; silver shoots along its hairline.

Who knows how long it will take. Who knows if by then
we’ll remember the sound of each other’s voice. 


In response to Via Negativa: Personal Growth.

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