Once Eaten

I loved your dark eyes like
thunderclouds, the sky filled
with them. The way a rose
bleeds salmon-colored fluids,
the same way a child might
cry for milk when the dry tit
shrinks and folds. You were
beautiful once, unknowable like
the pleasures of the world or
the sea-storm place when no one
is watching. You were the last
gift, the strange star shining,
the morning-winged bird who
flew into the mouth of darkness
improbably swallowed.


Letting Go

Like a robe or rose opened/the light
detached muscle rubbing under skin.

I say/I release you/betray myself.
Think of burning/thorns/a desert.

The heart is nothing but sand/if not
beautiful and shifting arches of sky/

an emptied cathedral.

Here's where I take your hand/
let it go/the way I promised.


Adopted Author

Most the time he sat like this:
soft pectorals leaning over paper,
hardened eyes inward and down.

"I have been robbed" he said,
his room no more empty than
his heart as if he owned

something once before.

Counting, counting words
and random specks of dust
like orphans do, always groping

for a ledge, a hold, a family.

The cloth, its threads irreparably
broken, a favorite toy forgotten
beneath his adopted bed

its countless plastic parts
already missing.


What Sadness Looks Like In the Dark

Night sky, black factory
of stars. Its cold moon
like a father. How perfectly
its parasitic clouds resemble
the lifeless parts of sorrow.

Just at the tree line,
a silhouette of owl like
a small hand reaching
slowly through the dark,
its skin on fire.