You paper cut the air above the tundra when you came back in silence, in sheets, and the neighbors called me up out of my sleep to watch you unfold the blanket.
Wrap me back into the womb.
The first thought is fear, and brother, it emits a crippling bend.
A shame you can't know that you carry until you've seen it offered down.
Standing on the lawn at a distance.
Watching shielded in the silence, shielded in the knowledge that has no use for language.
Standing on the lawn until you wish to be crushed in its collisions.
You paper cut the air above the tundra when you came back in silence, in sheets and the neighbors called me up.