these marks won’t go away

place on the door
a wall of wings
a tangle of a straightening
a siege a head a butchered bow
wherever Sundays need to go
a walking through
a rear window
to something clanged
of something clipped
of something clamped
to something dipped
a gurgling
til something stopped
the gold work hand
the silver chopped

down the door
and through
the hatch
the least failed light
last closest match
lasts even longer
when you scratch
these marks won’t go away

so all my healers,
aren’t you proud
these marks won’t go away

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