Reconciliation of a Soul

When in between bodies I float in a darkness,

and nothing becomes my best friend.

I lock arms with this vision that’s quiet and starless

until I’m introduced to colour again.

I was born once more, this time in spring,

when the wisteria was at half bloom;

before they bound my new tongue with a red string

and drowned us in a flume.

When our river-reed knit rings won’t fit

like the corsets of our mother,

we wither to grey as our body permits

and breathe out a greeting to summer.

Come autumn a taste will still linger:

the taste of lemon on the tongue.

It settles like the voice of a little-known folk singer

with far too much black in their lungs.

When our body and soul become unentwined,

and she holds the weapon of silver,

I bribe the hand that can sew and bind

the skin and bone back to the giver.

For our love is woven in bronze beads

and worn through over time,

but set like clockwork so that she’d

return to me when it chimes.

Body, if I could teach you all the ways to love

in seasons and shades of blue,

perhaps you’d understand the darkness I speak of

and how beautiful a life I’ve found in you.