Six feet down, the mud claws through us; and, six feet down, we pretend we have a peaceful place to rest. Six feet down, we bury the shovel with us and pretend that we haven’t found each other.

There we were in the sun, there in the sun, strung like fairy lights, glowing gold not because we live but because someone had told us to— boots two inches into the ice and therefore the lake, nineteen feet from the shore. Liquid fire glancing at our toes, your cheeks & nose & ears red, blending deep with my scabs and your scarf, we stoop; two street lamps learning how to see.

Six feet down was our coffin. Six feet down was water. Six feet down, neither of us would be lit up anymore.

There we were in the sun, atop the snow, learning mercy like two sins holding on to each other tightly— boots atop recycled blood, brushing away feathers of salt from our cheeks, freezing out in the mist of our breaths. Clawing at our toes, the cold slithers into our veins, but like all else, we tell it to be still. Be still, be still.

Six feet down, we are fairy lights without bulbs. Six feet down we are trampled street lamps who don’t know up from down. Six feet down we are still against our volition.

There we were in the sun, who had set six feet ago; blown out candles, our breath the smoke in the moon.