"Pierce the skin,
 and the blood runs through"
   Lucinda Williams


The mark comes from inside, really,
the years of fear, days of glory,
the perfect hand held against a house
of sand and shadow and sacred nights

Bones lay upon skin lays upon bone again
the flower of blood flowing to the point
where it remembers that yes, this is the one
that we searched for, that kept the night awake

That brought us side by side so each can see
the image of the moon where our forearms meet
and where stars are flecks of skin and shards of hair
as the ink passes from my body to yours

And back to mine as it waits for the needle soft
as any rain and pure as morning air, leaving behind
the abrupt and final calculations of what makes us whole
and a map that the serpent uses to bind us together

You take a step and my leg moves, the sky turns
and the serpent dances, the earth turns and the blood spills out
unsure of where to go next, which body to inhabit, which unholy night
to choose as our guardian angel, our prince of peace, our final song

The way is long and our bodies remember.


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