hollow

it’s a short run to be a long way
from the unbroken hum 
of static and errand
from no one’s wreckage but my own

a frigate has no choice 
but to look effortless
oil-less feathers and hollow bones
she touches the water she dies in it

running is a theology my non existent therapist
shouts into a wall I built for her
ain’t it all just vectors, different magnitudes
different debris fields, people, ledgers 

the last clear thought I had
treading water are words
for drowning slowly
and calling it a life