HY M N our waters were related after all: kissed by the same scorpion stinger and baked in the muddy watershed that stretched between our houses. it wasn’t a stretch, then, to call you a god: god of wine-tinted ice creams, of sweetness and silence; god of closets, of hands on mouths, of fading without a trace.
every day holding for some transfiguration, an answer to my prayers; but like all the other gods, you sat and watched me peel my knees from the floorboards. i howled my ires / swallowed the fire alone in a midnight cul-de-sac: jagged throat keening, the phone still motionless on the cradle.
fh 14
