for Ty
this poem is unholy, scarcely a drop
of suffering to be found. angels protest
terrified, don’t fly
but dive through clouds of smoke
trying to occupy space. i am merely
graceless, caught
like a spiderweb in your lashes.
when you break my fall
you are calm as a fruit stand in new york
& maybe as strange. the gunslinger
effect deduces that in a duel
the shooter who draws first
will lose, so be careful
what you’re good at.
i was born gripping pearl
handles, piercing mirrors
like a cardinal breaking glass
upon seeing its reflection.
once, i saw you & didn’t blink
until the sky bled daylight
lips slick with expired moon.
i’ve shed slabs of flesh
like spent shells from lonely snipers
who graze azaleas to spare their targets
but i would savor even the skin
you pluck from your teeth.
when a sunflower is full of seeds
it will bend its head
to ease the long trip
home. this seems almost joyful
letting go, like the dead
butterfly you preserved
in a plastic sleeve only to dream
a gale of wings ringing you
a halo. sleepless as a finch
in a snowstorm, you filch
the dark focus from magic hour
reduce the sun to a flickering
votive kissing your shoulder.
if you move
even a little i will inhale
the tender planet of your head
tuck its damp mess
beneath my tongue
& scatter your curls
like buckshot across the night sky.