by Deborah Castellano

I am trying to listen
To the broken crackling pieces
Of lovesong you keep sending me
My brain is too loud
Too filled with paper and people
Too loud to hear you whispering
You send omens instead
Your wings overlapping mine
You would teach me
If I’d let you
>playing with dead things
and being a dead thing
are two different things
you are a dead thing<
Ten of swords
It will happen
When I stop trying to breathe
All the time