Turned sides until I lost my soul

Washed my own contour into the perfect foreign glow

Had my ends divided, all dirty and swollen up

We became the beggars, of crowded thoughts and perfect speech

Dragged my ink stained limbs across the white canvas of guilt

Following lies I found I different truth

Under the same sky. Over the ocean’s indigo slab

And without words she whispered “I will hold your hand, as you held mine in the forest and the stone hall

And your chest will glow

And the entrails of the animals and the grass below your feet will curl around your naked toes

And you will sing about it all when I am gone”

Givers of grace