this is a long way from home.

run showers just to
hear the sound
of rain. this is tundra,
this is desert,
this is a long way from home.

shallow breaths as
the air runs out of you
in syllables; glass figures
you throw carelessly
to the floor.

now they're slivers
and shards, red footprints
in the snow: wounded elk,
a hunted beast.

i'm not your albatross,
no kiss of death or
otherwise impending doom.
your light in the dark
hangs by a cord,
and true love hides
between pages,
not sheets.

you, all wind and
hot air, go float with clouds
and airships. don't we look small
from that lofty peak?
can you make out
the sound and shape
of misery?

my great enemies stalk me in
puddles and polished mirrors.
this is what it means,
to be afraid of your own
shadow. this is what it means
to be ?