Sharps

My thoughts are ringlets
separate and smoky
-this twining toxicity-
delicate, obscure brutality

don't send me in there
alone
I can't face my
sister's bones

I look at photographs
of my pastel past
but can't forget the barbed-wire words
coming like echoes
through these bloody halls

I saw hell
inside those walls

Can you really
raise the dead?
ghosts of yesterday
haunt my head

I sleep on dust-
my desert bed
but I've heard whispers
of wine and bread

blooming trees!
green, greener, greenest
redemption
for things lost
(long ago)

Can you really heal me?

Here I am.
fragments
at your feet