SKIPLANE

 

moths at my window like a bruise.
so many scores to settle.
pastor said, desire is like a bee
in your bonnet, temptation like
the deathman’s tug. the closest
i’ve felt to God is in the garden:
tulip at the neck, i pluck
the head & push it in
my mouth. forbidden nectar,
perfect psalm. april sermon breaks
into a ripened summer. i am half
the man i once was. gather
the good rocks at the shore,
put them in my pocket. mother
liked the orange ones. blue jays
obliterate prior things; haloing
the beach, crying in unison––
a funeral, in tribute. better sons
than me.