They’ve been there too long. They’re part of the
earth I walk on. They make up the air that
I breathe. They lock me in shackles

in my sleep whispering all their misdeeds
as my body weeps beside the clock as it
ticks off the minutes as a stopwatch

keeping score. They hang loose out the window
when the sun shines behind the door. They build stone
walls between my neighbor and me. They’re thick as

a forest in brilliant jade green. They’re the cross I carry,
the one I’m nailed too. They’re the spouse I married,
the one I made a life of islands with. And I swear
there’ll be there when I no longer exist.