So from that splinter issued forth together
Both words and blood
(Dante, Inferno XIII)
Knotted trees hold the body shards
left behind, breasts sweet as fruit
hands blooming on branches
Your eyes are leaves, the wing
of your neck curves with the quiet
rhythm of roots, our entwined fingers
fragments of fronds: what had been us
comes to fruition in salvaged, fractured,
repurposed small wreckages of mouths
Swollen lips-leafage swallow the end
of the black forest, our broken forms
whole, blooming anew