Euphony

Drifting down a long trip to the sea
Silk sash swelled with all she did not write
Then dips the pen’s sharp silver beads

In ink pools, oily spills, across veinless leaves,
Each pocket of rocks holding tight
Drifting down a long trip to the sea.

She chose the tides, a moon guide, not to bleed,
Marches to the river waist height,
Then dips the pen’s sharp silver beads.

She sifts the sand and steals a stone for every need
She has to carry into the night,
Drifting down a long trip to the sea.

Starving, on her own hunger she feeds,
Then lays down the arms of her last fight,
Then drips the pen’s sharp silver beads.

She signs the slip, leaves it for him to see.
Strangely grinning lips, now her body seems so light,
Drifting down a long trip to the sea,
Then drips the pen’s sharp silver beads.

Light unfolds itself
in the dark of your veins,
in the deserted
cold of midnight

when my eyelids
jig for fish,
where skin separates
the fragile seasons.

I am asleep,
curled-up with the spiders
and a strange scent
of mold.

You’re a wet leaf hanging
in the thin belly of the moon;
I reach for the door to grab your hair
by the invisibility of it.

A sink full of applauding glass and metal
rolls my shoulder,
a dog’s rib-cage wedged
between my legs.

A flock of birds
move like thought
in the breaks of your voice,
prancing through my temple –

a shotgun blast of pellets
floating to the surface of a pond.

I moan and smear my forehead, a dying flower,
reaching for a dark hole,

wishing that you would
come and dream with me.