Love is cradled in empty coffins
And feral promises, always coming back just to bite
Love is born in the image of an altar pinned to your heart,
of a carbon-copy woman 10 years dead,
Gripping on past reason, long forgetting her voice
Only to remember her smile on your own face
Love lives in the slight contour of your nose,
The arch of your brow,
and the ghost in your blood
That never stops singing
Anthy Strom (any) is a poet based in High River, A.B. When not writing, hiking or cat-wrangling, they can be found desperately battling the mint that has currently taken over their garden.