Published in Bones 14

  •  
    her myrrh
    embalms for now
    the murmur
     
    humours
    in healthy balance
    hear the word
     
    her need
    (indeed only one)
    she pours over 
    the word
     
    one death ends
    with a word 
    anointed
    for its tomb
     
    the word 'poor' always
    and the word to be 
    no more
    among us
     
    a word dies 
    because it does not die
    on her lips
     
    emptied
    of itself
    the skin of words
     
    sleep in-turning death's portal
  • burning bridges 
    with a flare of words
    in fits of ineffability
  • spring forecast
    i reverse engineer
    my ancestry

  • spring return
    i try to live up to
    my obituary