Bind my wrists with briars,
Sew tight my lips…go on…
Take me to the top of the tree,
Twist the rope about my ankles -
Push…
I will freefall in the darkness, pine-blessed scent
Beckoning me closer…closer…to the ground.
I won’t make it, no…I won’t land there in the silence;
I will dangle from the rope you’re holding,
I will dance and sway at your pleasure -
I won’t crash to the Earth, I won’t break any bones
Yet I’m broken, inconsolable, lost…
Lost in this bitter world,
Lost in the free-form shelter of this rope,
In my blindness to the shape-shifting,
In the terror of the shadows drifting over me,
The weight of each word pulsating emptiness
As the blood rushes to my head, tears to my eyes,
Wrists, ankles, lips…wounded and bleeding,
Like my heart.

Dena L Moore
September 23, 2008

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Thanks to everyone who reads and comments on my work! Blessings, Dena