They Will Sew the Blue Sail

Then | Stephanie Ford

I woke, stretched,


my tongue to the dumb

word love, to long-

stolen here and halting

thought half-lost

in vinca, our borrowed

stars go by and why,

for home, do I hear

bones hum and names

unbind through shifting

vistas? Stone seems

made that way,

not broken, so don’t

crack open, leave history

hungry, if no fence

invents you, skin will. Time

to slip into it.