oh death do me,
when i'm
become
just

A

pale jet
(in the night)flowers
between the nimble
lips of darkness

a careening bolt of hot remembrance
all the bodies that my hands have been:
the ease and tremors of their *******.

death, this catch, rest, carry
(the hollow of my stem)
the love each new as old
nor less than any other

that lived within me tightness
that go with me in end.