I read the dead among the dead and the living dead.
I too must be dead
or this book already read
but I can’t remember who gave it to me
or put these ideas in my head.
What’s been wound up is unwinding through me.
The strange contours of my heart
and all its newly darkened chambers
can’t seem to accept your escape to that other world
and it’s clear your absence permeates everything
I see and touch and think.
How can I carry my heart with this same old soul?
I would lay down
the corners of your eiderdown
and square this circle to keep off all the crawling things
but the soft grass invites no intercession
and I prefer to hold it anyway
and inhale your scent.
Now the summer light is low
and I plan on reading here until I cannot see
or someone makes me leave.