An Addendum
Find the tree & its desperate field.
Find the hammer in the robin’s breast.
Find your tongue, the cave of your mouth.
Find your grandmother’s coat.
An untucked shirt. Follow them home.
Find a chair. Find the coffee beans stuck
in the cogs that grind them. Find an addendum
to the life you’re living. Let it be wrong.”
Let it walk you, in silence. Then again.
Eros
There is a new tenant in the house of my body.
Infantile in the theater of upkeep, she brushes my teeth
in the shower, and lets the toothpaste dribble.
She lets the trash pile. She draws my eyes to things
unseen—an over-healed callus, a white scar in the crux
of my collarbone. There is a new tenant in the house
of my body—wild unlearned thing, all tendon knee-jerk.
She crushes the stems of my dried, bottle-kept
carnations, and days later, they bloom.
