An insolent sting that surprised even the basil.
The greenery offering no sanctuary or grace,
Your contemptuous slap
Gnawing at her breastbone
It sits preserved in murky glass, and the formaldehyde leaked through her fingers,
Ask what it is! And be denied even a moment of honest repose,
I hope your lilacs did well last year.
Seeking comfort amongst these joyous limbs
Our expectations cease
Leaving creases in linens –
Little daydreams to spare us from the chill,
Ignorant of what secrets unfurl, and linger there
Illuminated, dust motes the only witness –
Touch me if your hands are full of intention.
Skim the pages beneath skin–
Letters punctuated by blood vessels!
Let every piece of negative space re–ionize into air
Cut along the dotted lines, and folded at the crease;
Tiny bone shards resting easily in tousled hair,
Where lines and letters stir at the browbones –
I could leap into a fit of tears.
Say a prayer for our glass eyes
Glossed over, uninhibited.
After skies indigo, along we fall.
Ceaseless snow around the wrists
These icy moments remain pure.
The actual thing that is fire
The little cracks,
To allow light in
Stooped to press, ear to earth
With exquisite, auditory
Beneath the murmuring rock
A little space to exhale
To the 3rd degree,
That cavernous nest opened up to
Inhale those cherished bones,
From the kindling above –
She swayed in mourning.