I’m brining my workings.
Visceral gears whirr and hum
and beat.
And beat.
Archived for future use.

The pulse of my heart
harboring a dark ship
to take us
from the ruined land.

Let me shrink and shrivel
from the storm’s march
swallowed unfinished
and made whole.

Drifting, gliding,
a fish in migration;
slipping, drowning,
beneath the mirror surface.