Your blood has forgotten your name. It seeps though hidden channels towards

the abyss. Ebbs out in heavy dark torrents.

I don’t know your name. Not yet. Somewhere, a clerk, seeking your driver’s

license, rifles through your bloody clothes. Meanwhile…

Your blood drips onto the floor where I stand, and someone puts down a blanket

so I will not slip. I hold your pulse under my fingers ad wait for clarity.

The whole team swirls around me, orderly but fast. We catalog your injuries

and staunch the flow. Pour a stranger’s blood into your flaccid veins. But…

Your blood knows the forgotten secrets of your birth. Dreams, in this long night,

of forgetfulness. Catches wind in its arms and lifts you to rapture.