I wrote the first draft when I was in a black depression. I can’t remember whether it was about me and another person, or about two parts of myself.

You and I
no other face
no song of bird
no green
no breathing.

Bones are fleshless
blood is dust
the flow has stopped.

No rhythm
where we walk the wilderness
the gods forgot.

Divided here
spiked by each other’s distances
we find the great abyss
where all our ghosts collide
and loom and jab
and neither meet nor miss.