there is a hole in my sleeve
where my heart used to be
an absence of fabric
otherwise static
running from each other
like rabbits
in snow
I hear you
outside vision, a whisper
without a reply,
a rarefied silence.
wind sweeps besides me
and steals away
with a memory
like old glass
like spiders webs
sagging under dew
the conflagration is won
the flames and embers
have burned down from
junipers on fire
in fields of steel
seared in flights of ecstasy
guilty of applying
the patina of forgetting
as each bead is clutched
and counted
bullfighters swing their
blood cloaks like air filled
with smoke and death
one wingless bird flies over
new york and changes everything
in a single breath
the named faces are faceless
fearless, nothing more to know
alone ships dot the future like Seurat
but cling to hope that is killed
without the threat of
hidden, maddened gesture or
within the arc of a whip
lashed liars with their
poison tongues
speaking to
a wall.
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