Regret
braided around me,
a parasite living
on my mourning
decorating my silence
with a fine sarcophagus --
In the dark heights
I stood above
a field of
wildflower lights,
feet webbed into steel,
face pressed to mesh:
I leapt into dark wind,
cold wicking up the bone;
on borrowed wings
of the night flyer,
living by echo,
I let death
strip
lost paths.
Naked,
stormed by my
own voice
reawakened,
shell corpses of
spent wishes
tangled in my sweat
Now I taste
the grit
I swallowed
as future --
spit out what I would
have had.
Know that I
will be coming
forth.