thesesmallbirds.com

6: 34

Our bodies did not inter sect

so much as

pass through cardamon and salt,

now set to

strange dust.

The Poor Mechanics of Desire

Now listen here:

I am the throat at the altar

where small birds are torn

from wing to wing,

so my heart learns in the slow walk

between fasting and release.

Light from Light

Now I saw you,

a flutter above the sea.

Iron Oxide

What do you really know

of art or the troubled

sleep it brings?

At midsummer, you strayed

inside with your hair drawn up and

your eyes pulled to dried blood

on canvas.

On the Imposition of Ashes

We drank too much wine

before the chapel door,

but you didn’t seem to mind.

There was light when you

touched my wrist, and we heard

Death exit the room with a growl.