I know a winter that ends
with a mouth full of ice.
 
The body licked clean
and licked cleaner.
 
Nothing leaves
a scar as wide as a secret.
 
I am slicing open
the river’s numb spine.
 
I am slicing open each
man with his own knife.
 
I pray there
is no such thing as red.
 
Yet each secret is a blood-
drop through snow.
 
So I can breathe
& shout whenever I’d like.
 
But memory is still soft
and bruised through winter.
 
I have learned & re-learned
my careful tread of want.
 
I have learned that terrible body-
shuffle once impulse leaves.
 
I know a box of matches
won’t burn the skin to dusk.