my eyes are tangled tightly,
i cannot see your voice
or frantic fingers, but i can
taste the blood flooding
from an unknown heart and
the hurt panic eking its
way between your words
who, who
and you sound like an
owl hooting in my ear
i tell you i have lost my gun,
my bullets wedged
between my teeth, and
your owlish eyes
(i can hear them with my eyes closed)
ask me over and over,
who, who
i tell you it is she,
and you remember her floral
and blue dress, the way
it pleated around her
neat little ribcage
and empty breasts
you remember the way
you made love to her in your sleep
the memories false
but more real than anybody
you have truly touched—
the fragile woman
hourglass and ribs.
the fragile woman
built on stilts
and skinny bones
to save herself
but here she sinks
spindles breaking,
taking
her to the very
ocean into
which she bleeds.
