Blogging & Poems, My Poems

Hanging From Your Neighbor’s Window, A Brass Key Ring

Your favorite mornings were
when you turned off

my skin—

my hair became elongated fiber

my eyes, melted and frozen,

over and over.

*

It became this soft
repetition—

this event

of cars and medical wire,
deer crossing the street

with nowhere to go but up and over

up into the stars, over
the neighbor’s fence.

*

I spent my mornings smelling
expended gasoline

and sea salt, through a window
where there was

no water.

Your hands, like two Irish Setters,
kneaded into my skin

and paused,
as if waiting for answers,

as if waiting for directions
to the nearest

phone booth

to report the collision
of deer to engine.

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