Something Different

Nail

Nail?
Are you awake?
I apologize.
I do not step lightly.
Is it soft there?
Nestled in the pulp of muscle,
the warm soak of my blood.
Are my foot bones etched with initials
of travelers now disintegrated?
Does the percussion of my heart
drift to you faintly
like from a room deep in the house?
I hope it’s not dark
but more stained glass red,
more red like light in my mouth.
A red like earliest home.

Nail?
Does oxidizing feel like losing yourself?
Do you miss the cool of the mountain?
I’d say if you feel safe, then stay.
But my nerves scream so.
When we separate, know
that I will wonder
at the iron taste of my blood.
And I will imagine you
holding a bridge or crib,
happy down to the strain.