Unfathomable

If there’s a ship passing
in the night
somewhere,
half-way across the world,
then you’ve placed me on it
— like a queen
on the chess board
of your heart
waiting to be moved.
You see, these bones
were made for more than
capturing, or kindling,
or whatever wishes
you wish me to bear
the weight of.
If there’s a ship passing
in the night,
somewhere,
half-way across the world,
I am not on it.
I’m in bed.
I’m in love.
Not a queen at all,
but a woman whose heart
never asked to be fathomed
into a constellation
you could point to and think,
still, somehow,
“Home.”
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