The arrow into the heel of Achilles.
I'm violable, I'm nothing special, I'm real.
Amphibian arrowheads sinking into my softest skin
Pry open my thief-knotted secrets,
Rendering me as pale and unarmored as the fabled beloved
shining, suddenly, with no Hephaestus to hide behind;
My glass wall is spear-shattered and my mind is left staggering
Across bedspreads and library stairs,
Miming the spastic flight-dance of a turtle with no shell.
It's too far to the sea.
Lying in the field I'm waiting for the gulls,