I Was a Heavy Stone

He entered the room like ivy climbing up an
oak, bright scarlet pouring upside down, red,
so much burning beneath the still greens of

the oak, it’s always holding on for some chandelier
or maybe some of the poison from the boughs.

He is the one who said She’s a lost cause
and at the time, she was. Sauntering and sun-eyed,
he didn’t understand the rays bled so bright, turning

coldest eyes to bridges only the cold river could
sway through. Turning all roots silver. So counting

ravens became a chore, because they only caw for lost
magnolia leaves in the spring. But everything is silver,

and there’s nothing so sweet, he thought with
lonely sunset drives before him. Only the darkness
between the stars could make him stop wandering, too

far, too far, red tide ebbing under red moon. The fish
won’t be able to sleep tonight, but that’s okay, because

he wasn’t going to let silver tails dive into the blackness
without him. It didn’t feel like tambourines jangling, only
her barnacled arms slapping salt into his wooden eyes.

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