The ache has migrated

The ache has migrated
from behind the right eye to the left
unclench, unknot
trace the tributaries back to the source.

I hear your paddles slide through my pain.
You drop petals,
leave a trail for me to follow
as I search through the muck if it.

But baby this flower cannot be reconstructed,
put the paddles down
by the old Tannenbury bridge,
come find me beneath the willow
that weeps without shame.

You trace my pain back to its source
we spread it onto bread
and it soaks right in;
tastes of bitter almonds,
spoiled wine.

Yet we keep coming back
silver knives in hand,
silver brushes
paint the machinery
of the petal torn flower.

Meet me dusted in this pollen
born of humanity
you belong there still,
you preside there
still.

Pushing from the center
you keep your shape.
I tried to let you rest
yet still you press always outward,
holding back the collapse

its okay baby it is okay
to
let
go

float along my veins
you slide right through.