Our bones like knives, they need
sharpening: too soft around edges.
Gain glimmer again, although
magic only leaves you broken-
hearted, best advice, I’ll never
take to quit while ahead–forget
your name but feed the trance,
feeling empty with black truce.
Come back with the northern
wind to fool my head, or don’t
return at all. You know this land
is slowly sinking below sea level
on a constant basis, don’t come
near, I’ll drag you below, locate
the depth where it isn’t too late
to bring you into the oyster with me…