you have let
again
small birds
land

on your collarbone
to gag you
their empty
gullets

or

you've again
swallowed
a red
insect
and it

walks.  the ink

of your looking
seems
a hammock
but you say

far off
a raccoon
is watching.  a stick
 
out there
separates
on its own

like taffy.  your hair

has mostly
fallen.  three shadows

I will never see:

under leaf, coffin, or strand

of your hair.  when I hold a glass

the faucet
tries
so hard
for milk.  I can't kiss your neck

and that's okay.  I don't think our boy

would've been
silly.