Tatters

I stared at the icy black water

Dark as the night

I saw my soul’s reflection on its blackened sheen

And I shuddered

I felt the frosted wind

Piercing my clothes

Just as easily gaping my soul

And my heart groaned

I heard the howl through landscape

Of the din of death

I lay down assured an insincere prayer

Was my final breath

And I silently shook

Then or a hundred other times

Now or any myriad of ways

You could have dried the ink

Of the story my life writes

But I heard one other proclamation

Saw another deathscape

Upon its gloom a soul

With tatters and gapes just like mine

In fact so closely matched so identical

they were my wounds

And my soul pondered this

They are my dark unclotting leaks

But what are they doing hanging from a cross?

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