A crosschecked destiny

do not mismatch my tears
when they draw back up
this earth.
I intended to be liquid,
to dissolve these legs
so that wings would grow out
and take me over mountains
that point the direction of heaven.
I carry fire in my hands as a son,
and my father gave me a sword
so I strike down ghosts
who claim they’re better friends
that do not shine their light.

Ruddapoet