.
four friends love my very bones,
as if they’d never
felt my sins
crack against their shins,
fracture their wrists or
bite hard at their heels.
.
rich with enduring
mineral (or miracle),
something old and willing
heals each one’s turn at being
broken across the back of
fear, that blunt instrument.
.
such love … bone
on bone.
.
orphan poems 