My mind yearns for sleep so innocently it refuses
the perverse truth…
I sometimes go months without remembering you.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.
mocking with an ache
that comes with leafdrop, woodsmoke,
and those shots of bourbon that ease
not a thing
In the hallways of attachment
Wasn’t it beneath this spot the son of Kronos
pursued his inamorata, holding out a handful
of shining seeds?