I looked,
Kneeling at the threshold
at the man
with his scars,
I cannot reach him
he is years away
in himself.

his brothers
and sisters
blood for blood,
lashed at his body
with their whips
and gnawed at his
festering sores.
He will let them,
there was his silence
which is what
I remember most.

He does not eat.
He does not hunger.
Its too late,
too far, already so
much his skin holds.
The boy starves inside him.
He would eat himself raw.