I could breathe
to the sun
in the shape
of a heart
I would still
be shattered
rolling in the ecstasy
of my nothingness
forgive me
while I wander
across this field
looking for
the end of suffering
in a hollow pocket
of the sickness
that I call home
the world is still
wrapped and cold
across my wrist
an opening
but still I feel
the birds that sing
and the flowers drown
and a mother dies
up in the trees
the dogs will bark
from their teeth
a wilderness
like a beautiful death
their poems crawling
from the dirt
as one
– Daniel Haskin
November 3, 2023