By Hannah Lash
If I told you, if I mentioned that we had all been
there, masked, and had cried all the same
thing in borrowed outrage, it would have been enough: hungered,
shell, shell; river beneath a tongue who wouldn't anymore interpolate
between privacy and manner instead decaying deadwooded un-solidified:
unlike water--conspiracy further downward, seabound.
You meandered behind me, accidental stalker.
Dancing, finding nothing to hold but each
other's comely secrets we were immured.
still managed from their outrageous stalks, but you and I silently
creased ourselves under and beneath: convolution from the outer skies
for whom our punctured eyes had stopped searching,