blood at my back and blood in my hair. I bite
red & black. the shore
is liquid until it becomes solid—
no movement, no retreat. the blood mixes with sand,
tracks ice. liquid stains     advances, miles
and red miles to send forth. the stained hand sweeping
clears our numbers and the water clears my sight.
who ground to ash. who tears the rift
and what he comes for us—is already here.