We held hands as we walked through the old growth and came to the field’s edge.
A thousand eyes rose from grasses. Tree stumps rippled from their
centers. We wanted to sing a song, but our tongues were gone, so we
hummed throat-sound in our empty mouths. A black moon gazed from above
with a hollow longing. Our own gone eyes roamed above and collected in
the vacancy. We stood and leaked salt from our sockets as fatal
openings trickled from our centers. Lucy told us the lesions would
never heal and that our only hope was to enter them with our outward
limbs first. We let go of each other’s hands and put our hands inside
our gashes, searching for their source. We entered the whole of our
bodies into the wounds until they enveloped us.