I knew a man who tried to burrow into a woman’s skin and make of her a shelter.
We are a wonder, an unprecedented miracle, and we will live through our little deaths.
How long are our names ours if only memory holds them?
The only stories are dug under the lines.
We sit like this in the tension of things that must not be said. That must be left in the spaces between the spaces until we can let them go without summoning a flood.