little windows

use rib bones to make a wind chime

what a pretty sound

yours make        such a pretty sound

bleached white & wondering

if you brought the milk home for dinner


shriveling floors are colder here

than coffins & trout bones

pursed on canvas           a little close

to women next door, legs spread

in the garden grunting


mottled purple takes your jacket off

only to put it on again                  what is that

in your mouth? scraping in the chamber

a bullet a tooth a way home

forgive me         oh lord

you’ll wake the baby


peek between white sheets

& the river swells with trees;

juniper berries in muslin cloth

& how his beard brushes brown

against my shoulder

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