I can feel the wind go right through me
it whistles as it whirs past my ribs
my chest, previously filled with fire
blows ash and soot past my spine.
You asked what it feels like - empty, I explained.
Maybe I am not empty;
maybe I am full of space
like the fields are,
like soil ready for seed
like morning, waiting for the kettle song
like sitting beside you, there is nowhere else to be
and the water, see how it goes out further and further and further and
maybe all of this is part of the ritual
maybe they have called for great room to be made.