and the day came
in which i folded up
all my pictures of you:
the saints, the women who made it,
even the horse i had as a child
the one that died.
i folded them up
and put them back inside my heart
the place,
in the beginning
i’d taken them out of
to put on a shelf
as though
they were outside
and i was a shell
separate
on my knees,
hands together
asking for help