don’t the dead always covet something running?

I count bodies like cold days in March.

Ten, eleven, twelve—& you

with the map unfolded, following the sky.

I wonder if you & I are twin limbs

of something running.

If you & I circle.

HOW TO MEND A FAUCET DRIPPING THREAD

You are in Nepal, maybe dreaming of astronauts.

Every morning, a spider webs over my door, but I don’t do omens.

I refuse to weave. I am not Penelope.

I will not hang all the maids, for example; it’s antifeminist.

But I will lie here with my face annexing the floor. Penelope, neat.

Pouring out a little whiskey for the sirens & swine.

From the bathtub I will drunk-direct an orchestra

of boring nebulae. Leading the scales

major-minor minor-minor.

We observe the moon at opposite intervals.

By now you’ve seen my constellation, the jaw of a wolf.

Can you tell that the stars are on fire with longing?

Every tooth is there—my right mind stitched.

Or else the moon is taped up for the solstice. Comma

how are you. What with the leeches.

I don’t think anyone was expecting a supermoon to fly.

For instance, a person knows not

to surrender the absence of space, & gravity

calls us. The moon is still & the night is forked

when I pull months straight out of the tap.

& I know, I get it—I’m counting the ship sails

holey with mothbite. I know about drowning, fine.

My mind is a wishbone drying. I hold it taut & pull to break.

ELEGY WITH BLACK SMOKE

Three notes: long, long, short—your call for me. In a prism of light I walk backward. I see a house turn into a bull turn into a house. I shake myself, wincing. I hold onto the facts. You’ve been dead eighteen years. The house was torn down for the cemetery. A man on the mill road stops me for my papers. I don’t say I woke up in a red pond & my arms are made of magnets. Whole cities follow me south. I can’t help it; I drag them behind me. When I’m not careful, worms appear on the road & I waste an entire rainstorm sobbing. I don’t tell anyone the code words stuck to my coat. Without you, all the proverbs are halved in my mouth. Where there’s smoke there’s. Where there’s smoke.

[FOR DAYS I WAS SILENT]

For days I was silent——If he had called me I would have gone back

on every promise I made to myself——

But there had to be a move toward withdrawal——Those were the rules——

Before I was ready——No one could come in & unharm me

Rebecca said Don’t ever let anyone fucking tell you how to manage your grief——

There was blood under my fingernails——Your blood she clarified

I couldn’t keep anything down——Or anything uncontaminated——At the time I