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my cat purrs comfort
rearranging my sock drawer
for dapper white feet
I’d dance on his grave
if I could just remember
where I’d buried him
my whole family
is in therapy for things
we don’t talk about
Life is hot amber,
But what flows when all things end?
Just Truth, and Ice.
Mountains, but not stone–
White sculptures too pure for hands.
I break like a wave.
How do they return,
Those who die beneath the snows?
Storm petrel / sheathbill.
Poured glass / mute valley,
Ice creaks on rusty hinges–
Weight of a white tongue.
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