of the mans surrender
i remove the wall to my wars
watching child as girl
in hands that waste
the flower bore
the death and the taste
of policing her bodies
and visions of boy
knowing how he had to be coming
again the nightly endeavors
back to the haunting
of his mother's wounds
the battered doors of eden
surrounding worlds in corns
by her tidy day and desk it wound
the collapsing tilt
of his gentle spots
inside her waste
his crucible'd core