ONE THRONE

this is the debris, the corrosives

and collisions we took to get here,

to make our bones from spit

and owl feathers, from grasping

hands and bent knuckles bruising

berries, the way we did when we

dug into the earth, dirt

finding ways between skin,

when the river's static

couldn't wash us clean.

 

we became breath

exhaled in patterned dysfunction,

we grew limbs, turned animal

on the shore and lost track

of our phantoms.

 

I buried you,

a boot marked memory,

in the watered soil;

 

we revel when we dig

and we dig and we dig

and still can't find

any trace of our bones.