Knife

The knife is a promise, perpendicular

Pressure and motion and release

Memories burrowing insects in skin and bone and

If its in the blood you’re late by a life. Blood,

Letting go

Of the soft sound of conversations and

The heavy stone of unheard swallowed

The bars are paper thin, just past the edges of sound and a train of thought

Dig deeper

Through the days with no tomorrows piled higher than their betters

And the unbearable summer sky