Dear Cut/Throat,

Let us resume
unmarred, that is
to say more civil

save in the poem
in our winter clothes
where our bodies take

for a moment
anonymous
reluctant holds

over modern verse
ironically for-
getting a naked

girl half rotted
on the half rotted
bench underneath trans-

mission remitted
without stirring sod-
den paths the poet-

ic zig-zag through near
indecipherably
hollowing our hearts

though I must confess
I used to follow
you from the ladies’

room to the ends of
the earth emerging
pitifully in love

like a scared flower
whose roots are restless-
ly learning the lines

cleansing mystery
this too I love art
below the belly

a low dissembling
reprehensible
tenderness denied

a blood-spattered walk
whose encrusted branch-
es compromise kiss-

es witnessing mere-
ly preservation
itself as descent