sapphire baby. edges ground down from all the gnashing.
petrichor and exposed bones. gaps where we should be solid—

the earth and i erode alongside each other.
the soil is sunken. the grasses are loose
enough to be carried away in the winds.

this is not at all what i’d imagined of the homecoming.
ground salt and bitterness. the tea left to steep until cool.
it sits on the countertop, avoided until forgotten.

when we, too, go cold,
where is it we go?