it was not only that echo

jennifer nettles

oil poured-out

and pooled, light lines

on tin tubs,

she is. we are

icy vines on panes,

blue shadow veins.

driven deep

beneath the waves

to watch plankton pull

the blood and bone,

the wait for the white noise

to sparkle out of the dark

the deep shivering

breath that it’s now.

with a push the glass rattled,

the windows black,

fire not even warm.

you and i are this.

she sings in the rafters

and wakes the static.

her eyes and flowers