November hymnal (10)
Cause and effect cross-hatch the sketch
of death that gives it heartless depth, like weather.
Clouds pour from the trees and their rain is ash;
Memory, the fifth season, the language of sand.
You’ve scanned the barcode in this hand:
What minute mistake precedes the crash?
He burned alive inside his car. He already knew
these cities would not hold. In her bed the black
breath choked her but was not the cause, just the body’s
flag of surrender. Her last look could not be read.
She had all the time to prepare but none of the tools.
No understanding in the wide open eye. Too soon,
The promise of the pared appleskin moon:
so very little light is needed to die.