I didn’t know that you gave names to wounds.
A book of memories in your hands.
The tip of your tongue, list of insults.
In the back of your head, the rhythm of your heartbeat
Where voices meet and interact, infecting the one true thing.
I didn’t know that you paved a path
Between life and death with everything that hurts.
I didn’t acknowledge your daily steps on the reimagined homeland.
Are you still looking for something?
How many pieces did they take away?
Something that was given to you and then stolen?
Is your vocabulary a puzzle that you were forced to put together?
Did it make you who you are?
Did it create the time you live in now?
The dead kept themselves alive, didn’t they?
Or did you?
Did they suddenly start to talk?
And tell you the truth?
And how could you ever heal if they remain sick to the bone?
Integrated in your body.
And you’d lose all the blood.
Who did you focus on?
Who gained your attention?
Were you followed?
I look at you.
I look at me and thoughts collide.
Names collide. Paths are intertwined.
We were born stepless amidst a cacophony of dancing feet.
Croque-Melpomene 