Perched at her desk, Collie threads a needle
As I sit in my plane seat and feel myself sink
As I stand at the doorstep in a moment of haste–
/
She pierces right through the eye, her maneuvers precise
As I step through the door and tears run down my cheek,
red, and wet,
But they don’t really run– it’s more like a saunter
And I go back to bed, wishing all of it false
/
And she finally stabs the fabric of my skin
Patches me up, turns me outwards in
/
As I bask in the heaven of this funeral home
Stand and watch as life unfolds
And understand
what it hath brought
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