I am looking away
my head in glass

across bell wedding hill
where fireflies lace over

green ******* of evening
bounded by bay grace

when a restless thought
slips brain pocket

& hides in castled teeth
like a relic of sugar -

a friend I gripped too tightly
when grief rose above my head

she pulled away gently
leaving only her name behind.

Ah! Here is a line of groomsmen
humid row by the bower

the last is the man she loved
he's brought a wife, a child,

& he won't catch my eye
I know he's broken her heart.

The towers of love have fallen
quietly in our private groves

stones bearded over with cold moss
until indistinguishable from hills.