I am a boy in a metal world
whose eyes are rusted, blind, and green,
whose mind is lost to the shipper’s girl
and all the things he hasn’t seen.
I am the hollow that haunts the chest
of the boy of tin who loves her still,
am the empty spaces of his breast
and a coiling sorrow hard to fill.
I am the soil that lines the floor
of the cave inside the boy you met
whose body’s proof, and nothing more,
of a house collapsed in warm regret.
I am the seed brought in by air
that claims the soil that claimed the boy
whose made of tin both brushed and bare,
who claimed the house his to destroy.
I am the wood that’s all that’s left
of the shelter that was his to die,
am the rotting wood, unbound, bereft,
that held him close and kept him dry.
I am the sapling in the seed
that ticks inside the beating earth
made moist with pain he doesn’t need,
made bent by longing, bound by birth.
I am the ghost that haunts the rot,
who pulls the sapling from her place
to make new wood in the deepest lot
in the welded cave locked off from grace.
I am the poet who the ghost will lead
to the boy of tin, to the hallow lawn,
to the rotting ruin, soil, and seed,
to find the girl he thought was gone.
I am she who left, alone,
whose eyes are dry ‘cause they have to be,
whose father shipped her from her thrown
and made her veil a brackish sea.
I am the body that can’t forget
am made of tin and blood and thirst,
belong to a boy who you once met,
who kissed your cheek as we rehearsed.
I am the bounty born in you,
am the boy himself, your foreign friend.
I am the faith that makes him new,
am the pantry emptying toward an end.