PRECIOUS
Bring me sackcloth and oleander.
Break out the shotguns.
We’re going to town.
Changes in the weather
tracked on smoke-streaked yellowed windows
via crosshatches thumbnail-
scratched into their frames.
Silences breed vacuums small enough
to hide in the hem of a skirt:
I collect the spent matches as proof.
(so very precious to no one else but me)
Like the granules of salt I tossed over my left shoulder
and several dozen miles worth
of broken guitar strings.
There are ashes in the lake.
There are termites in the marrow.
I have aluminum stuck in my teeth.
(bring me a glass of water and I’ll tell you everything)
—from Clayton T. Michaels’ Watermark, Phoenicia Publishing (2010)
