Fill my inkwell with living as thick as Indian ink. Let spirits stir it with quills and bristles until the bits whistle and clink. Gasps and clasps and whirring. Thunder and hiccups and stumbling bars. Then watch the black smoke ascend to a sky strewn with sudden stars.
Roll me a river of forgetting, make all memories disappear. The closing wooden casket. The ugly duckling’s fears. The corners full of sadness where Chinese puppets crawl the walls. Purl through the sleep in that cave and sweep me awav from it all.
O waves, proclaim forgiving and swallow what I’ve seen. The whispers in a cell phone. The hum of war machines. The shielding wing of the sparrow (and its tears when spears would pierce through). The mysteries of a leaving. Dreams we’d written but didn’t pursue.
Bless my breathing with loving, mirrored, uneven and vain; stretching for the sunlight and bending to the rain. A rivulet of heroin shot like an arrow through marrow and spine. Let it lace the air with the sweet taste of madeleines.