there is a thinness to the light,
a madness that dreams cling to
silent among the whispers of flowers




.

My knees have graved
deep the upended belly
of the dirt.  There are empty
parts that can not be filled.
You are not a puzzle piece
but I will make it up to you
under the dead sky.

Hold me until I can
see you.  Whet your knives
on these long bones.
I don’t mind your lies as long
as I can taste the blood
of your mouth and parse
the oleander hidden deep
in the velvet of your gown.

If you walk backwards
sweeping a branch you can
erase the drag marks. If you
have access to divine
intervention and a cup
you can raise a toast.

It bothers you that
you can not see yourself
in me; I have turned loose
the fauna of my heart.
Goat-skinned and salt bound
I am rooted in the soft hand
of nightshade.  The ghost’s
still lick the rime from my crown.
The gold will not polish
into mirrors no matter
whose tongue whispers.

This blood we call home,
the thorns impaling, the harrowing
abandonment. The words
ring until hollow or hallowed.
I have tied the veins and worn
the rings but spines harden
and beauty is only a fraudulent
strength. I will forget as fast as I can.

.