if we could make fish-tails out of poems
i would fold you into a myth,
and write you on the inner wall
of my last dorsal bone;
but we’re humans
—i and you—
and we breathe like most birds do
when autumn vines hang out their hearts
for passersby to tie dying wishes
to dried wishbones.
and years, and luna said—
‘wishes ever outgrow the secrets that cradle them.
whisper your whims whence they’re never heard,
and widowed sylphs might bear them home.’
you blew out candles on my ulnar nerves
to truss my heart to your bone;
and we were decades before we were lovers.
and we were ended
before our eyes learned to blink.
and luna said—
‘the love you loved was forebound to leave.’
i pressed my prayers to your rosary
and your rosary to my chest,
and you threw a stone at the sky
and it shattered over us like our faiths.