Through the night there was one wish held in the light of the lantern,
I could feel it in the rusted air full of salt.
Hoping our fate was not destined to be hollow,
we wade into the sea and submit to its current.
With nothing but our fingers thread
and above our heads a singing wren.
Have you ever considered the lineage of a wren?
Delicate and wrapped in the glass of a lantern,
each new face a trend that was carefully thread.
Up north, they are sprinkled in the sky like salt.
One after another they follow the wind current—
floating on the air (only made possible by their bones hollow).
But you tell me that my words are hollow
and in the sky there is not a resilient wren;
but a raven, waiting for our blood to cease its current.
And you say that it is dim, the lantern.
But as the waves continue to lap at our chins, I taste salt
and I kick and scream and grasp at your shirt, tearing its thread.
Pulling and ripping until together nothing is thread.
My shrieks chasing animals into a tree hollow,
as my lungs fill with water and salt.
All the animals gone except for the lonely wren.
Is it my blinking or is it the flickering of the lantern?
My timeline warped so everything past is current.
And everything future is current.
I wonder if there is anything to which I am truly thread
I want, for you, my words to be the light in the lantern,
I want, for other, my words to seem hollow
I want to soar through the sky, small and unnoticed like the wren.
I want to be divorced from attitudes and personalities akin to salt.
I want to eat the food you make that accidentally has too much salt.
I want to be stuck with you our own current.
I want to feel as admired as the wren.
I want, between the two of us, there to be an unseverable thread.
I want to come to you and be held by you when my insides feel hollow.
I want to look to you when I am lost, I want you to be my lantern.
And so my wish was thread, encased in a metal frame of a lantern
completely hollow besides the bulb that shows us that the crunching beneath our feet is not just salt.
But the bones of the wren being buried within.
And I thank her for sending me through this current.
