I've crossed two iron arms
thought the air by my heart.
It's not a cross to crucify
or to ward off forces old and low.
It's to feel the mineral moan
in the throat of the iron
when it brings it own bones together.
I've broken my bones over each other
and my throat told no stories but this:
grass stains on the bent parts
of the body, that body badly
shaped for the slatted light inside.,
the ghost holding on in long bags
hanging out of the fracture....
A part of you has seen
the daylight now; the sun
has been inside your darkest parts.
You are sutured-up, scarred, and full of stars
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