I am at an end of some kind, an end
of expecting pink when the sun arrives
and departs, an end of thinking

anyone gets it,
anyone actually understands

the shooting stars streaking thru the night
and my words piercing thru dull dark.

I, who am healed in words
healed in ripping away
the opaque screens of untruth,

I have been broken
and I cannot say if

I shall ever be clean again
ever be whole again
or fit for any service.

The light thru the window
only sharpens the separation,
the scraggly thin beams wait

to claw my heart to ribbons
and lick the talons clean

in the moments in between
sunrise and sunset

in the cruelty
of the ordinary