the sieve and the sand

i’m on the line–
crouched waiting for
that pistol to
fire i’m living in
those breaths before
the explosion of
gunpowder and
tendons–

i feel the
nauseous anticipation
hating now this space–
waiting now for life–
holding now our worlds–
until the suture heals
and we are one–
not even a scar to
show we were once
otherwise–