Menards Clothing Racks

Suffering fields downstream


I just rested in the orderly
ashes inside the fireplace where
broom straw
pretended not to feel the heat.
you kept the front of the open fingers

roots as the tree keeps the earth, and looked

beyond,
arc of the sun on the mountains
your crib.
spied
your nails while you were sleeping striped
,
where you could make the last gardens, water coral in the furrows. The sound of Zappa


damp in the shade of blue hydrangea. Your step

the falling stone,
your lips coal
split,
your unkempt beard


color your eyes and gall dying.
Your shoes, greasy
in your absence
my altar lie