hello. who are you?
i have a name
that rhymes with dust.
but you can call me -
when you’re done.
we slept through
the unctuous dawn…
fiending in a tide pool
of aggregate stars -
marching into doom
like so much plasma on a dime
spinning in the sacrosanct ammonia
of any given day- preserving
the incomplete question
in a jar
on a window sill
in a basement…
under Us.

did I swerve where
the garden crept -
into your
hands
in mine?

did I ponder overmuch
the moment of You
with all the candor
of a lovesick god
without your
name?