by Sandra Miller
if we weren't made of soot which we highly suspected/respected
in her garden she had no garden
we did not love her we did not let her picture fall from our wall
forgive & foment no one kissed me where
like bad jewels good black dirt
what song can't do & does magnificent thumper in the wild
'the secret blackness of milk' 'sordid intimacy of the abyss'
when it became a corolla flickers
you are like an angel yelling for
attention still more still
my lamentation is as perfect an almond a shell
her eyes an altitude amnesic lover
gathered her skirts to the blond chapel
altarbirds follow us herehere herehere