The Wound Healer

The crooked world upon which 
we lie under a sheen of paint
bathed in the evanescence 
of moonlight shown 
through tilted cracks in 
the walls during high tide.

They enclose and condense the 
broken lungs of the living.
we breathe one air.

break free of mechanical chains; 
the reflective barriers that 
prevent the mind from 
collecting the first drops of 
morning dew.

It floods the sea with pastel blue 
that blooms before my eyes,
so I wait upon the snow fall to 
plaster the ground white until 
everything is seen through a cataract haze. 

Like hollowed-out 
willow trees, I bargain with the intent to
slow down time.

Pinpoint a moment but it shatters
when I see your shadow,
Hooves printed on this earth 
in ethereal tones you 
tell me to overcome permanent 
wounds because you are
the wounded Healer