waiting for dawn

the sun's gone

to another world

for a while

he will be here soon.

meanwhile,

soon

is stuck

in the innards

of a lostness,

writhing,

weeping,

for all that's lost

and burnt 

and buried.

he will be here soon.

he must.

as breath struggles

between walls

that must graze

and bleed

against bone,

to understand

the shape

of me

being born.

he will be here soon.

I know.

as the dark blue 

spills and streaks

across painted skins

that must be worn,

and the ground

remembers

her art

of waiting

for dawn,

in the quiet

of a pregnant dream.