The cops come to measure the street.

They ask me What did you see? I saw a hole in the whole of the picture.

When he comes home late from his fight at the bar,

I hold a cold rag steady to his knuckles. I think I can love someone

who cares enough to bruise for me.

He touches his thumb to the corner of my mouth,

pulls back my lip to consider my teeth.

I HAVE READ THE WHOLE MOON

In March I drop an egg hoping a bird will fly out disbelieving

science. All the manuals tell me this is a logical contract.

You commit yourself to a shell & you end up flying. Fine.

Stone after stone, I’m defacing the river of being in love with you.

True, I don’t care how that sounds. I have a list

of cocoons to transform my body: Uncontrollable

Shaking. Sleep Paralysis. Dread of Eating. I’m guilty

of pretending the roads to your house are no longer roads

but deerpaths angled crooked through the marsh. Again the water

doesn’t stop; it rains even when the weather is overdue: a holy

parallel. My mouth is rotted & anonymous. The bed needs oars.

I’m interested in dust but only new dust arriving unmarked

after you leave. After you leave, you leave &

thicketed in sludge I’ve been glued open. Self as spectacle:

Yolk Marvel. Unbird. Emily as grave pillar as salt lick as dammed up

luminous in thread. I have read the whole moon

cycle; it doesn’t explain the cracks. Mercury for once

cannot be blamed. My dishes float in soap like little planets.

I drop my hands in the sink. They come up feathered.

ELEGY WITHOUT A SINGLE TREE I CAN SAVE