*
Half iron, half oak, the bed
all night honed on what went wrong
–it’s an axe, striking upside down
though you sleep facing north
side by side an empty dress
shaped into bulls and chariots
with your mouth wide apart
louder and louder getting ready
for the slow descent –you sit
on the edge, trying to bleed
to open the sleeves
still reaching out in the dark.
*
It was a lake, used to bodies :islands
With an everlasting sunset and the glare
From jewelry, veils slowly drifting down
As the footsteps that now weigh so much
–it came here the way an icy stream
enters a slope that can no longer right itself
has no water left to give, no nights, no arms
though you are reaching for these dead
by hauling off smaller and smaller stones
on tip-toe, paving your hands for the unease
already smelling from wood, rope, holes
hidden in bracelets and never let go.
*
Again and again you begin each night
as if this faucet climbs only in the dark
will widen its slow turn