When We Were Through


Our bed filled with lilies
and vowels the color of indigo buntings
and other epiphanic terrors.
We were creating this
plural. We genie polished & stretched
muscles’ roses, the origami of
spine and limbs, and rushing breaths.

It seems our job is to disperse
the mind around us–
bolts of sky, cells’ silly scribbles,
pergolas of grief. Let bodies
consecrate then disappear, reduce
all to a single vowel
the size of a vole’s skull.