I would take all your injuries
and put them on my body.
The swell of blood up and out
would be my own.
The way it falls tearing out of you
to swallow in me and become
that magic river of pain and painless
that granted thing that once spilled
congeals and stains a dangerous red.
When you were born your whole skin held you
so complete yourself so fine and finished
the skin of your heel that spread to shape your eye.
I, breathless with wonder at what had fallen out of me ,
found falling the clasping point; the broken thing was me.
Made of blood and so brimming with it
that I could weep and weep and not lose you,
and you go and damage yourself against
this ramshackle world never to lose me.