Wednesday, January 24

a trade of pacific magnitude (four)

whatever god you shook the hand of is laughing in his chair as you're sitting in mine.

without fear,

i recognize
you take up so little of the doorframe
namely, the same
as me- your little arms

as you descend, i'll remember
your pendant, i promise
the red dust will love me
as it must


without leave
i scatter death from my bed
all over this black land

without grievance
i will gather myself
and hold your iron hand

but not without feeling
will i let you run,
between my fingers like fine white sand.


When you return, I will show you my clean bed
with great pride.
I can hide nothing
with your tiny brown eyes
so near mine.

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