“hope would be hope for the wrong thing”

T.S. Eliot

I wait to be reborn

in this fallow ground.

Beneath my skin,

my bones hang heavy.

They ache for release.

The muscles tighten

like wire at my neck,

etching a tense smile

across dried flesh.

My lungs grow thick

in earth’s dark blood.

I cannot breathe.

(March 22, 2022)