water rises, into the
air pressure, where
the words hang like
branches, low enough
to grab onto, as the
stream rushes along,
moving the frail
wooden ramshackle boatcoffin
love's death and rebirth
out toward the open seas.

there's a tidal wave
in her teacup now
as she brings it to
her lips, and she tastes
the bitter leaves brewed
in hell's kitchen,
spitting them out
before smashing the
cup of bone-shell
and another wall
crashes down in her brain.

he catches the flying shards
in his teeth
no pearly white smiles
to terrify you my dear,
this is all quite real.
he says.

there are shards in her hair,
and the ragged leaves are
torn from the branch
as the wind comes in,
catching breath in its wake
the storm sounds
heralding love's thunder
with a kinetic flash
of lightning, searing
to a place behind
her eyes
with a blinding force.

and the first drops
pelt into the water,
softly at first,
mirroring a 1000 eyes
with fish scales
and then it pounds
with mallets
so that a a million hearts
may be opened
with a cracking of fire
a dancing of wind
a grounding of earth
a flowing of water
into blueoneness.

katharina hren I