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 which died

i folded them all 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 of me

and i was a shell


on my knees,

hands together

asking for help