Breadcrumb #609
LINDSAY KIRK
Lacerations stretch as they breathe
Ancient wounds haunt
As an inhale widens their cage
An exhale weeps
Over a shattered frame
Drawing tangled paths north
Teeth chatter out the seconds
Slowly gaining in sound
What is lost in distance
Milking heat from the coldest stars
Chapped lips form a ghostly whistle
Yet nothing runs close
A ceaseless crunch
As feet become snow
Dancing over the graves of variations before.