i’ve grown fond
of ebb
and
glow felt through
cemetery
snow,
no tear a waste on
face gone
stone
to face what’s
gone
before lilies
bask at
dawn.
mental health
within body,
i seek distance
crowd the cage-
choking hazard comfort,
confines of contours
are womb, fluid imbued,
i crawl into
to imagine self unborn.
ever humming unsettled
these hymns of
the mad
in a key that
could strip
the shine from
life’s tip.
hands in the garden 
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