I listen to you like rain

Margaret Wack

You are tangible
as I am sometimes not:
the bones of small things,
shrews and hummingbirds,
cracked bellicose shards of the earth
rattle in your throat
on the red inside,
where I would
kiss and make raw
the lining of that gentle voice.
You are exhaling all the hours
I could lie without breathing
in an attempt to chain time
to my soft deer lungs,
in an attempt to traverse mountains,
in an attempt to feel your skin
on my skin.

Margaret Wack has previously had her work published in Strange Horizons, Liminality, and Devilfish Review, among others. More can be found at margaretwack.com.