from SPEAK AND THE SLEEPERS
Time to invite ghosts in
In myth
when the living are ghosts
missing bits
A stone perches on
we
My billowing unseen
years of stones
on the world the real one The one
that sings
about sunny ice peaks
like an accident
Lilac birds waltzing
this butcher’s block
last September’s pollen stain
around a wedding arbor
tangled hair and vetiver
burns its prayers
some hope like the dead
pouring the living
a cup of broth
We have to wait to eat
flakes of cloudy fat fusing
to coral Hang-gliding as far as the horizon
stirred back around
our eyes on the wrong horizon