1. The Trespass

Dismissed, matching buttons.
Unfurled, similar cloaking sheets. The belt hinge
snaps twice, losing its patience
to the hunger of zippers unlocking their teeth.

It has been that long, caretaker, that brief —
those fingerings across a skin with hair.
You envy them, these men who jumped the wall
to wipe dust off a grave.

One man polishes the tile until it squeaks, the other
groans, startling the owl off its perch.
A white feather slides down the speckled sky.
You follow it, you crouch into the dewy grass with it,

you comfort it against your cheek
from the tremors in the ground —
the sounds of bones gnawing
anxiously through silk, omnivorous as shrews.


2. Night Vision

When the car strikes the cemetary wall head-on
it doesn't go completely through
the way the driver's

skull penetrates the web
of windshield, shedding the face —
pushing out a smile, no teeth.

Strands of blood caress
the vehicle's bent curve.
The hood pops

up to cool the pipes;
the engine's breath is spent
at the force of the midnight

meeting. The man's hand swollen
as a boxing glove stuffs itself
into the dash. A stone chip dives

down to greet the knuckle
pressed crack against crack to the glass.
And the back seat finally doubles

over with exhaustion,
silencing the memory of its passion-
heavy indentations — the tongue-to-tongue

scuffles lost that pushed the driver's
foot into the pedal.
The letter in his pocket dampens

to illegibility. The letter in the mail
falls flat under the rubber heel
of a RETURN TO SENDER stamp.

The door swings open. Out
drops the solitary shoe
with its stunned, empty mouth.


3. Moribund

Lover, what beautiful toes you have.
Even it it's dead

this practice of finding solace
in rubbing the feet against the top

of another Catholic's head, I've enjoyed
that digging of my scalp with

your tiny muscles softening, warm
in a coat of camphor oil.

Tomorrow you'll lie flat on a bier, your feet
balanced on the heels,

but I'll remember your feet like this:
a pair of wet tongues,

pink and sensitive
like the valley of your groin.

I touch the grooves and feel you
shudder — stay ticklish to the end.

Wrap my hands around your ankles,
attach your tendons to my bones,

and take me with you.
I fit you like a coffin —

your body slipping back into itself.