Revised. Originally posted February 2019.
Open air salt mine surrounded by trees,
broken skin broken heart redwood dog pen,
blistered, bruised vending machine jail
overrun with self-guarding inmates,
I sing you my hidden prayer:
burn clean as you burn;
flood red when you flood;
may you thus be wiped free of old stains.
If you be hell bound, may you hellhound loud;
if you speak ironbound words,
may they scar you dark and long
and thread you with traces of forgotten railroads.
Oil pan, catch basin, heart butcher to the world;
split window fastback hearse;
I offer you this finback wish:
may somehow you go leaping
through hardening seas
toward the last places left with soft water;
may you somehow turn
to ice and jungle
and gulp replacement air;
may you somehow find safety,
dive deep, stay submerged,
and learn to thrive in the absence of light.