"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, 
and we are not saved."



the only promise: you will lose 
everything   the only promise:  
that you will pass   breath on glass
wind on skin   rain on 
shoulders when you're moving 
fast   (look now: you are moving fast)  
every day acts as ballast   a promise
a lure  moving forward   if 
fractured   if fallen   (the ways we fled
before his face)   the real
violence of bodies   and this ware-
house   these train tracks   these 
full rain-slicked streets   stored up 
inside ourselves for ages 
become water   become blood   become
myths  (the remaining)   once
torn into pieces   now torn 
into god