a task

when I ask spirit to turn my body inside out to see where the leak is coming from, she pries me open and peeks inside, expecting a hollowed out husk with ash huddled in an empty corner. she discovered a field of naked trees, bone dry with fractured branches titling sideways and an abandoned cathedral that overlooked a once brimful garden where my great-grandmother sewed each seed into a sterilized soil

how many cups of water does it take until something sprouts? how many knives does it take to gut a fish?

I am comfortable here; hugging the walls of my skin. dwelling in the depths of dreams and myths that cannot be penetrated by external hums of man-made crises and poisonous tongues that come to burry me in between their teeth. when the wolves come to tear you out of the anamonic sac, turn the howls into music, let their claws be a coat of armor.

I don't know what I’m trying to say other than I have been splintered open.