Water color

You are deep inside me and sharp, like a knife blade, but I feel a damaged patch that needs sewing so I can complete you. I carried myself, walked a long distance with my feet to cross the dirt, the moist and the dry. A bucket of water from Muscat, planting and petals, witnesses and names, with a fearful heart I stood at your grave, seeking hope. I felt the marble layer, the one you rest under, do you think it hurts you!? Does it tighten over your ribs? I wiped it with both my hands, held the Quran, read Surah Yusuf, Surah Yasin, with my lisping voice so you can hear. I sat with steady strength, as if I was carrying a heavy secret I wanted to confess. I approached you, whispered as one who fears punishment: "A man broke my heart... crucified me on an empty pillar decorated with words. He approached my trunk as if he touched me even though he never did. He stopped me on one leg, taught me to lean on it then... let me go... naked like that pillar and loaded with all the words, the words he said and those he didn't say."