“You’re bleeding”, i told him.
he stood, a nail tucked through
the flesh and foot.
he implored me to look at the white-topped trees.
“But still, you’re bleeding.”
“My whole life, and they waited till today to be this white”, he told me so instead of ridding him of the nail, i stood at the base of the tree with leaves of snow and tried to do what he told me.
“They always pain you with both hands cupped upward” The liqueurs of his love pool at my feet.
“So I can catch the rain”, and he pauses, “so I can corral the sky”, he resumes much later.
“i don’t believe in you”, i say
“I know”
“Then why do you tell me to look at the trees? why can’t i feed you, sir you sting there’s bone, precious pretty, sir the lack, the skin.”
i lie. Really, of him nothings left.
He shakes his head, “the trees”, he tells me, again and again until the light fades from the sky. Tell me, as he no longer speaks, was it i who let him die?
