I was born breach and reaching
for a Bible and a break-up song.
It's eight months to the day
since I last saw you.
I've weaned myself of counting breaths,
redeemed myself by wanting less;
it's only when I dream
that I break and call you.
Sunrise sees me clothe the bones,
grease my braid, and carry on.
Summer's come and almost gone -
wolf and wheel.
Let autumn steal my time to think.
Winter, chill my blood to ink.
Spring is soon enough for me
to thaw and feel.
For Kerry's prompt at Real Toads