Two are there, one is like a rail
a forget-me-not stem –
I forgot him. The memories were
dug from my girlish head yet

there is a fever in his grave
weeds severed his head, he looks
more dead the
farther I back away and the
garden is more & more beautiful.

I begin to stick up for
the bristles, the maggots I hid –
at least someone tastes him.
At least his ghost can lead on one

more smaller thing, barely
nothing. Yes, I realize I was not
anything but a parasite inside

something who was already so
close to dying, someone bigger –
someone darker than me. I
chose the second.

He had a fever about him, too
but it just lit up his cheeks
and his eyes, though they were
always closed. At least
I can remember they are brown.

Two are there, I am impressed
with one flushed man
while the other became too dead.