photograph by Isabella Scandolari
The heart has built its nest
in an ecstasy of thorns.
Coracle of protection suspended
in branches woven
like a tattooed crown.
It was always the dangerous
you loved the best.
The bright hook. The torn flesh.
But now, when i look on
that cage of twisted limbs,
the suffering,
I see only the bright blue
blessing. All that openness beckoning.
Each black barb
enfolded
in the light's invitation.
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