little blue bird . . . a poem by rebecca buchanan

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what is it
that splinters us
shreds us
peals skin from skin
bone from marrow
tortures our peace
leaves us lying naked
destroyed in

what is it
that has the power to steal the words
beneath the moaning
leave us breathless
and alone
what is it (?)

little blue bird
on a thin branch
looking at heaven
as it were
wrapped in a wisp of cloud
a better place
than this dirt
this rock
this water

who are you to say . . .
and who are we to stay
and who are you
to go (?)