From the Limestone it Comes



In a cave of limestone,
of hardened mineral
and slow trickling water
i make a bed;
rest eludes,
and that rattle in my bones
gets louder in the dark.
i drag my teeth and hair
and bits of skin
to the corner nearest the door
where shafts of light still
eke out a living.
here, in the damp,
where the air is dense
and pushes on the lungs,
i tend to injuries
with the intensity
of a hunting cat.
fingers and brain
doing diligence
as they explore older scars,
and pull the folds over
fresher cuts and scrapes.
alone in this quiet refuge
the walls of the cave
gather so close
i can feel their breath on my cheek.
the drip drip drip of moisture
slowly works itself into a comforting rhythm
in perfect sync with my heart.
with body barely patched
but safely stowed,
i do the only thing i can
and let surrender come at last.
laying still in the dark,
i begin to hum a song
for all the broken ones.
words break free
from their anchors
and drape themselves in
curtains on the cave walls;
music is born right there in the dark
and draws a shaft of light
into my resisting parts.

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