Swans Can Break Your Arm Or Your Heart
I'm
old
and you
still sting me
with your bitter tongue
we listened to the screams of swans
and our unhappiness grew wings
flapping all the time
making you
restless
and
harsh
I
start
to sew
nettle shirts
though things from the dead
are always hellish to work with
leaving my fingers weeping blood
passing ghostly swans
I shroud you
in your
own
words
