I
Will Pick Their Flowers In The Sun
This July, when Alice died, we buried
her
In the backyard and threw in a lilac
bush
As the sun made sweat drip from bent
Bodies to the muddy soil
And in August, dogs were unleashed in
the
Bedroom, gnashing at the chain link
fence
Where I grabbed your arms for you to
hear
As your ears were in another land
Like so much slush in the streets
A thaw howling gray for all to see
The winter prescribes cold therapy
Casting rock salt onto ice
Arms linked in incoherence, angry
We circle in confusion with our verbs
Growling with our choices in the rain
Dogs nesting in piles of cinder block
When the flooding stops, the mud line
Across my eyelids burns of sewage
Yet the surface of the water, still
Reflects the sun as a mirror
Branches above the flood line bud
Above the carcasses of bloated dogs
The aromas a crescendo with the spring
I will pick their flowers in the sun
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