Kano Wound

You left and the ghost left.
So no more cold zones.
Or smoke detector batteries that die at the same time.
No more.

Like I am in water,
with you I let the weight of me go
tipped back my shoulders
into the curved wave of your clavicles
there rested,
full tilt hips and arms like windmill blades, slicing through the scared of me.
So in a morgue now. And tapping.

With wings and kerosene to guide me,
lighting darkness with a spark of flame
setting fire to the world,
on and on,
a solitary patient performs her own surgery,
I look down and it is me,
I have cut into my chest with precision,
inside, I place Kano rune to remind me even after I sew shut to stay open.

Maybe the ghost has not left.
I still find things misplaced from time to time.
I still feel like I am being watched, from time to time, I am still watching.
But no more cold like that night,
or rain like how it was that night,
so much water to let myself be lifted by
carried out into the tragic deluge.

I could be the ghost now; left.

Wound-by-Mark-Ryden