~
When Pharaoh
checked out at the Red Sea,
odd circumstance made a grab for his vacant scepter,

and kingdom collided
with plague to paint a mural
on the palace wall (or maybe, it was the hotel lobby),

of a dreamer's garden,
his wife in veils, her dance a cordial
invitation to a great many unmentionable things,

the feral sky had blown
itself out, and in muted candle
nightshade, the mistress of war disembarked,

and so somewhere
in those upper rooms, ruler
and consort, hearing the sound of running water,

mystified their carnal
senses by infusing themselves
with a little vigorous morphine of the soul
~

Your bird-spine curves to the roof of my mouth, confetti-skull sticks to the back of my teeth. Your wet heart beats on my tongue, small lungs press in for sleep.

In silence, I carry you. In words, I carry you. I hear you breathe. Feel your dreams furl and unfurl, fern-like to term - and I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

In pieces, I carry you. In love, I carry you. I feel shame. Not for letting you go - for letting it in. I know what happens to children like you, with fathers like him.

It's another late night
when rain strokes the yard

into gore-blue slate strakes.
Beyond the almond-thin window

a car hurtles into a red away
at the same time

as your face pushes
through the plum-colored

angelfish orchids
right to my blanket eye

as I wake from a dream
about snow in Dublin.

A moon bathes in Judas rain,
in dense yellow shadow;

although I am so alone -
I have never been so alone -

I feel your presence
in this strange convergence

of a flower's face, and
the memory of motherless snow.