Beneath the bed, I hide

my sack of broken secrets.

They leak into my dreams

like drops of rain sift slowly

through limestone to form

deeper pools, darker caves.

I wake to put them on again

still damp, clinging to my skin.

Through the day, they etch

their strangled blue runes

onto my hollow bones

with a cold acid. I become

a flute to my fears, a crescendo

of trills like dying birds.

(October 8, 2021)

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