
cordage
there are beach roses on the way to landwash, which
call to mind a tradition we share. an hour from now,
aliveness will have felt like the first slow waft,
unblushed, foreheld, a mouthful of salt froth once
circumflowing. this way, you are no longer solicitant
or known as index of synthetic pleasures
ash, fiber, latex, bone
appear reposed before her islet
rosewater, water rose
the underthought’s resistive thrust
hundreds of them, hosed in excess,
lay ahead the barrow trawl
if there were no keepable beliefs or common records
of a transitory temptress; if the ascendant (desiccated,
clothbound, nohow in sight) could be cared for,
again; if nearness will outlive a settler’s lechery or
counterswell
alas, my doll
contend with resemblance
she instills a tough love for you
to dream: house of ill fame with washrags and
bedding in a five gallon bucket, two weathered fish
flakes, cosmetic see glass, and blood heirlooms pinned
to a clothesline in the garden
hands of capture and enclosure pull back
how are you still there, passing, reticent?
how are you released with time?