The force of it all
a century of wolves roaming
strangers
dipping into the conversation
as we fall apart
the golden coast
somewhere
a dark vein touching
against the shatter

tell me your sleep is troubled too
north of the body, breaking
bread, land masses pulled apart
the beautiful truth
is we will die
with out hearts intact
stories roaming the river
like a bad dream
we’ll sigh into each other
counting the hours
between forgiving & forgetting
the last language we’ll ever speak
a longing
still framed
and glistening.

– James Diaz