IF I SAY THE RIGHT WORD
There must be a word for the six directions
of disappearance, hollow like the sky.
I interview myself on 24/7 news
but they don’t tell
you that when people die, the marigold
on your lips weeps. I say you are gone,
like you left out the door, but you are gone.
I follow the field
butterflies, yellow as an inside-out heart
valve. There is no map to the skeletal walls
I look for, but am dropped inside.
The weight of finding it
here. Hibiscus crowns the walls, snow-covered
ivy on the door, it’s locked.
You left no way to find you. Stories grow
from passwords, scarabed from secrets.
Silver swirls of snow & horses find a hole
in the fence
& slowly take me on a journey in burning smoke.
The ash-filled air still holds us. There is nothing
to prevent us. A spider runs on tiles & destroys
time. I am lost.
I follow the whispered hooves & listen to wind
through leaves & bark. I follow them nose to tail
like you wanted me to, I follow your carvings
The life you put together from sand. The eyelids
& furrows you staved to keep alight. I stand
in birches, never having moved at all,