Dear Cut/Throat,

To coax language out
of poets is to
rescue and neglect

become the feared shape
a lively terrain
relieved in the blood

made up of despairs
the impossibly
crumbling towers

departed before
the faint, climbing moon
to coax language out

I saw you approach-
ing welcoming me
to interrupted

quiet to the grim
retreating waves with-
out outstanding

virtue and delight.
You slapped my face and
and the melody line

laid tentative smiles
measuring the tread
of the setting sun

and I wonder why
the cold headstone closed
unclothed by each dream

tramples each flower
buried in the mud
announcing spring is

here! Silently look
at me in the same
bed dancing, dancing

surrounded by a
heavy printed scent
metaphor’s descent

and at the moment
of impact we are
composition’s loss