I look at the stars
and they make me cry.
They tell me a story of how I’ve died
many times on many nights under their fading starlight.
I take a carving knife
to my body, to my coffin,
to separate the grief covering my skin.
I feel there’s so much longing underneath.
I look in the water
and I see no face.
The waves offer me a warning coming ashore,
of a love that will die
because I’ve no hands it can hold.