i.
I’ve known you a year
& only touched your back
once & when I did your spine
bent like metal or like dirt.
The best part about your body
is how easily it can be covered
by the soil of elderly mothers’ gardens.

ii.
Last night I dreamt that we were driving
through a city of old lakes (& we were, & we did).

iii.
Tonight my legs are wide & sprawled out
(& looking like a marriage bed) atop
a white blanket. You cannot mourn
what is not yet dead; you are like
a small baptism to me, all forgotten about.