with heaven as my witness,
there are not enough pines
to fill this hollow heart.
escape into the woods.
from the bottom of a ravine,
you cannot hear the ice crack
under her feet.
crack your whip
and see how many birds
come looping out
of holes in the trees.
one rabbit will bound
out of a thicket.
brave the thistles.
get close enough
to see yourself
in its marble eyes.
find yourself
beginning again.
you tried to explain heaven,
but I just couldn’t wrap
my head around it.
it was like a carnival
with all the lights on,
but the rides grind
themselves to
stock-still.
the ride operator winks,
lifts up his straw hat,
and suddenly, he is
buried in a rainfall
of torn tickets.
the sun is so spicy.
it burns my hands
as I exit the ride.
will these blisters scar?
is my love-line forever broken?
does God really
take me as I am?
it looked like wine
spilled and fanned out
over the tiles of the cathedral.
the O of your mouth
was a window. it made me
nervous just to look into it.
I saw some words
caught in the pools
of your cheeks.
there were birds
resting in the beds
of your molars.
this room is hollow,
your eyes are still
wide open.
I lined up all my collections
down the center line of the highway:
feathers, coins, stamps, shells,
porcelain cats, ticket stubs--
to see how far they’d take me.
I just wanted to be more irresistible.
all the letters that tumbled through
or mail slot told me I wasn’t quite
right. I was what wasn’t.
I'm banking on the fact
that a new year is coming.
it shines like newly-washed fruit.
your thighs are
the turrets to
my house
you said to me
as I took a bite
out of an apple
that didn’t taste
like much of
anything at all.
your teeth
are diamonds
I found in the snow
you said to me
as I tossed the core
into the bathtub
just to see it float.
I didn’t tell you
what I did last night
because I knew
you’d scream.
you said to me
as the apple bobbed
and the water
grew cold.
go slow.
start with the
smallest stones.
little hunks of quartz,
penny-sized hematite,
a tiny piece of asphalt
stuck to the wheel of
a bicycle.
next, find the smoothest
and flattest--perfect for skipping.
they will glide right across
the slope of my stomach.
if you can,
with your two strong arms,
I want you to get
the stone virgin mary statue
from down the block.
uncurl the vines from her robes,
pull her out of the flowerbed.
she will be heavier
than you always thought.
throw her.
pick her up,
throw her again.
you are the bravest thing
to ever fall down these
hardwood stairs.
you asked me
to spot you
and your weak ankles,
but I couldn’t help
looking away--
towards the red
warnings about snow
that flashed from
the television.
I want to bury
everything. You
want to unearth
it all. It’s falling now.
all these women
frozen solid
on the vine.
they curve up
the spine of our roof,
in and around
the windowsills,
and down the creases
of our stairs.
I’ve never seen
so many eyes
so grey, so many fingers
with white knuckles.
I’ve asked each
and every one
if they would like
a bath drawn.
they stare straight
on till morning.
not a word.
rock me like
an empty swing.
the only place
I’ve ever lost
my teeth is in
this pond.
love is murky.
I found it
limping
somewhere
in this cold.
I had forgotten
what it feels like
to fall on the ice,
to bruise my shins,
to come home to a bed
full of smoke.
this is what I know
of the city:
you turn a corner
with the snow
coming at you
sideways
and there you are.
now you can break
into an angry thing.
start a little fire
from old silks
in the bungalow
of your lungs.
I treated you right
only to find an empty spot
on the right side of the bed.
I fell apart
underwater.
all I could find
were tiny graves
for all of the dead stars.
your hair pitted its gold
against the shortest day
of the year.
the moon was so full
that it spilled over
the highway.
all of our cars
stuck in the light
as if it were honey.
we floated towards
each other as if
we were teenage hands
fumbling under seats
at the movies.
the goldfish floated like silk
at the top of their tank.
you were asleep
in a coral pink
oversized chair, so
I retired to the bath.
once out of my clothes,
I stepped in quietly,
disappeared below
the milky surface.
the vineyards on
the other side
of the glass
are encased in ice.
the winter
swallowed
them whole.
sprung from the grottos
in the cliff,
a winding staircase
in the latest taste.
explore its recesses.
sacred niches of rock
will give you an impression
if you cannot do without one.
They have been dealt with
as the Catholic church deals
with most of such places today;
polished and furnished up;
labelled and ticketed,
edited, with notes like an old book.
The afternoon was lovely,
and it was flushing to a close.
The large garden stretched,
blooming with fruit and wine
and succulent vegetables,
and beyond it flowed the shining river.
The air was still, the shadows
were full of memories,
most of which might pass for virtuous
legends are wrapped in foil
and waiting in the fridge.
leftovers from last night’s party.
this all started with a wink,
a story that ran from your grasp,
wound its way around all of our hips.
the vines kept climbing
toward the bedroom window,
so I cut them with a butterknife.
they dangled from the sill
like a torn hem of a curtain,
like your shirt over
the tops of your thighs.
I waited for something
that was bound to arrive.
the train would speed
through the tunnel
and bring the light
with it. I was sure of it.
I pressed my face
to the glass. My lips
left a cherry-shaped
print behind.
The newspaper slapped
the front door. I ran
to reach it.
Headline: Museum Dinosaurs Collapse!
Clouds of Bones Near our Feet!
I folded myself
in half. I knew it
must be the end.
I stood pale
against the wind,
tugged at the fat
around my hips,
and cracked my
knuckles into place.
there is red smoke
billowing out
of the barn.
I do not know how
to put the fires out.
you taught me how to
gallop away from myself.
there were spurs on
the edges of the sun.
I shook all the flowers
out of my hair and
wove them in and out
of all these ribs.
when you admired my eyes,
I imagined them out of my body.
they were blossoms.
I almost lost them
in the snow.
they were light
on a golden plate.
bright and blinking, they will
help us through the shortest
day of the year.
there is just enough darkness
for a carnival to whirl into motion.
the smokestacks of this town
look so beautiful when I think of them
as your legs, long and lean.
you tap the edge of the sky
with your big toe.
even with all this coal dust
smeared across the bridge
of my nose, I felt beautiful.
all the frames shook themselves
off of the wall as the train passed.
I imagined the tracks, all hot
and smooth. The cat cried out,
hid under the bed.
