In the conversation we’ll never have,
I’ll tell him not to look too long at whatever remains.
I believe somewhere between the dead snake
and his dead friend, my father stands,
his back against the sun.
She stood at the altar of his casket,
read his eulogy like a wedding vow
i want to apologise / but i don’t know what for / by day i misquote
darwish / by night i burn with misunderstanding
it occurs to me that my grandmother may have had a richer inner life than any of us, that she wasn’t losing much at all putting…“a curtain over that bright cage” that is the world and its invitation.
Something may flower once & die, but that’s
Not the way I understand the world. My own belly
Flowers, glowers under an arboretum of quickening
Sea trees when I feed it miscellanea, mitochondria.
Perhaps I’ve tied it too tightly.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have done this alone.
…a planet, the bearing of it, how much longer will we keep bearing it, every moment paired together, I hear a garbled muffling of human utterance, I hear a calm fading of human utterance, her body’s utterance, my body’s utterance, the voice of cold rain, something utterly heavy, utterly difficult, utterly trembling