“Gathering love, like tufts of cotton, fingers ruddy with my longing. This will clothe me, soothe my raw and tender skin. I will weave it with cracked and bleeding fingers, a pink-stained new covering, the blooming, rosy blush of a wounded life rusting the fabric. I will wrap myself in love cloth, each bit collected and hoarded and woven into memory until I am cocooned in softness, with only the heat of my own breath to keep me warm. I will walk among the living in my new skin, sheltered and unseen. My feet make no sound on the earth. My life is a whisper. At night I will sleep in those fields where I gathered my hope and dream of an unveiling brighter than the stars.”

— Dawn Mantas