i am existing unearthed, like i hover
two feet behind the body, like
maybe a coffin follows vertically a
small distance behind the spine

i am feeling a bruise floating, as if
buoyed by breath, or perhaps
sunken and sinking the way of
anchors, shackling at the ankles

perhaps anguish is a journey self made,
perhaps grief is labyrinth to living,
both a forest into which i vanish
tangled, somehow torrid in their shade