Before My Heart Was Whole

Your hands clasping claws on open chords
strumming in gentle burnt sienna sunlight
shafts falling among shadowed swamp oaks
warming iron rich red dirt, thick clay weight
heavy on my borrowed dead man’s boots
and my mud-caked half-baked soul.

I am unworthy, a worthless scrap of sin
a bag of animated bone and blotched skin
trembling memories of weeks on end
or perhaps a single evening
slow and surprising
always late rising
huddled in fibro huts with paper walls
waiting always for the beat to finally fall
golden warrior goddess
hair untouched by scissors’ cut or sullen brush
messy but untangled
strewn across sheets
glowing with early morning white.

Unable to eat and always dreaming
of a home that didn’t exist
I was lulled by a soft voice
barely vocalising, yet rising
a pattern of thoughts, verbal mandalas
wound around imperceptible rhythm,
a moth’s wing fluttering touch
or love’s careless brush
caressed in your verse and curling
around the truth that grew in your heart.

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