in her hands
static
staring into the flame patting the castrated dog
learn to sleep in the middle of the bed he is not coming back

static
the tick of the clock knocking the right side of my brain into the left
learn to sleep in the middle of the bed he is not coming back
just to sink as the tide goes out surrendering to the pull

the tick of the clock knocking the right side of my brain–into the left
ambushing the house with blue and cockatoos
just to sink as the tide goes out surrendering to the pull
one metal ant scratches its painful way through veins

ambushing the house with blue and cockatoos
the flowers have been dead in the vase beside my bed three weeks
one metal ant scratches its painful way through veins
my feet mis-spell

the flowers have been dead in the vase beside my bed three weeks
my feet a century away
my feet mis-spell
the smell of vase water on my hands

my feet a century away
time is chilled in water
the smell of vase water on my hands
this is the day when the heart attacks the bird in the sky

time is chilled in water
is the touch of tenor on fingertips
this is the day when the heart attacks the bird in the sky
a knife under the pillow for cutting memory

is the touch of tenor on fingertips
the bare ribs of words the wind blows through
a knife under the pillow for cutting memory
falling off the edge of the page

the bare ribs of words the wind blows through
staring into the flame patting the castrated dog
falling off the edge of the page
in her hands

From Claire Gaskin’s collection, a bud.