The Executioner’s shadow (Hagar visits the Woolhaven)...

Joan, your ghost, it roots from my stomach to my throat

Branches splinter through my lungs

Begging me please let this grow

Do you not tremble at the thought

That we could both go up in smoke?

Is it the first gasp

Or final breath that hurts the most?

Is it that rise from a fiery night

To an indifferent dawns cold

To heal new skin, but be buried in the same old...

Clothes?

Art by rickylafoca