Everyone bristles
at the touch
of someone / thing
like her or that,
at the thought
of electric tips
crashing sparks by
the riverside,
or lost tree trunks
bobbing in murk.


there’s a silhouette of a face
i’ve seen every moment
of every waking day
plastered on the walls
of every inch of me.

one day it’ll take me
till there’s nothing left
but overflowing gratitude
for all the years she painted
the walls of this prison
bright with her face.