the sky holds distant lovers


we skin the fish, scales flicker

into the sink, evening sequins

Inge in her pewter pants asks why

don't I starve my unease

languid Inge, even fish keep track

my eggs aren't done unbuttoning

my baby's cough won't fit into my hand

it is a teacup tottering

I can't roll the saucer down the driveway

can I

I don't want another child

the baby weakens me, all my oil spent

skin sistered

to the drumming rain  

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