Though its surface feels like a gurney
An eroding kiss
Smoke in your hair
Consider when and where
The gilded painting’s been
Beneath the weave
The gauzy blue
Of receding labyrinths
Led to a last day of fever
One moth
Leapt and you fell
Down from your father
This real
Life in curtains
And on the screen appeared
A beautiful aneurysm
A rose
Burned for example
And fear of parks
Never because longing and sidewalks
After rain
Unmoor vapor ships
But the simple fact of the moon
Lowering its destroyed
Engine on chains
Someone will explain
Why the ballad broke off
Mid-sternum
The growing presence
Of photographs on our necks and arms
A grace not achieved in life
Is Technicolor
The gaze spills
Past the tracking shot
And swerves
To the window at the end of the hallway
To the bottom of the stairs
Where we suddenly
Wake up on our knees
Still praying
