With my own two feet, withered, yet dreaming
Can my skin stand still, patiently singing
Longing crawls through my bones, remains clinging
That which I can not understand, screaming
To banish demons, irreparable.
Fingers calm, soften folds that held you near,
Reminds spirit, tender promises sear —
With parched roots cleave the inseparable
Trembling through red shudders, closed to the storm
All that matters now — my goal, your compass
Lines glasses freely on broken stems — scorn
Base fates drink of we, curses encompass
Lightning crackles, swallows up bridges, worn
Pillars holding all love’s pure name knew, of us.
A sonnet written as a cleave to Sonnet VI by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.