Nothing To Do With Me

How can I reconcile the parts of me?

There is an inky taste in my mouth

Somewhere a camera is clicking

On and off

And a faucet swirls with the remnants of yesterdays mulled wine

Enormous shards of ice are melting

This has nothing to do with monsters

Nothing to do with me

Only the ache of holding

Only the transforming forest

Which waits and beckons

Waits and beckons.