i’m laying down with a book on my neck and your ghastly temper shook sarah’s branches. the way they shook was reminiscent of a code or some secret recipe lost in the universe like the way shafts of light roll across the dust on a table or the way the hawk cuts the sky in half over the barn incalculable, it would seem. your anger, too, shall pass. so i roll over in bed and wish i was buried.