I am carved on a salt wall
with the name where I lived in

the self cave.

Other traces erased or had dripped
where I’d been, with no seasons.

Moisture is like a beast inside the bones
causing the meat bad days,

even the stone
has some heat in its heart
that builds itself in keeping it for others

and awaits the tender glory
of her God in the temple.

I can’t shout, I just whisper
your name in words,

you hear me and let me
move on with things.