secret secret

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Love.

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fork tuning in july

we lie on the ground

hands up to the sky

ask one another

is this what it’s like

to be holy

in each hand

is a crystal

from

the times

we kept our word

we ask one another

is this what it’s like

to be enlightened

i begin to wrap you

in gauze

for your anointing

all around us

are firefly constellations

singing hymns

if we had ears

eyes to remember

that fireflies

are

angels

say hallelujah

things that are soft

i could

tell you about how

i used to treat toys

like found objects

because toys were

plastic luxury

but instead

i am

sitting

outside

with the sun

nudging

(puppy nosed)

leaves and branches

in the very place

where

my fire

burned your berry bush

right down

safety pin blues

if you sit still enough

so quiet the gossip

of the trees and wind

scandalizes the birds

if you recall the moment

they unraveled

skittering across the floor

suddenly marbles

if you lined up

three peaches

in your window sill

as a warning

if you could sit in

the cellar

you could

find dark enough

to forget a name

the other agate

i think if i let you stop

and touch

every plant we pass

you will stop wanting

to destroy things

at the same time

i wish i grew from

the ground

to be crushed

by you

somewhere in a field

one time i asked you

to get me a water

you said

hey can i

set a boundary

because

that’s a little clingy

you know i

have a broken

heart

lucky rabbit ear

i am not asking

for anything

except

maybe

to ruin you

for a year or so

until you

go back into

the chrysalis

and become

not you

friend or flight

one night

the blood moon

made you say the wildest things

my feet were tangled up in

yet another job i loathed

my hands balancing

three or four

potential lovers

my hair had not been

brushed for days

my mouth

held everyone’s secrets

but still you said

you wanted it all

then you wanted more

you wanted me

exactly me

but when i plucked

your eyes from your skull

while you slept

the me you wanted

was nothing more than

a mother

you hated

so now those eyes

are marbles

and you

still sleeping

under the willow

a tap on the throat twice

here inside a tiny box

the same song plays

wind it up

play the song

here inside a tiny box

not even an ornate one

but one that i happened to find

while cleaning out a closet

lives a song i once sang

while cradling the moon in

one hand

and you in another

but that’s because

i thought you were a wolf

the night

the pearl to

rival the moon

instead of this old

country

song

whispering

from a cardboard

box

prayer hands

i stood in front of the willow tree

it’s massive you know

the trunk alone dominates their yard

truly green too

emerald is the closest comparable

around the corner from my house

the people who live there

have made a mockery of it

shaped it into a sort of

flat top haircut

the kind brothers who are

a little sweet

are made to get

in hopes that cutting off curls

into spiny little soldiers

might possibly

stop nighttime eyeliner

i know it’s not neighborly

to hate

but when i thought about

showing you this

as a way to explain

how a willow tree

saved my life once

well

i get so mad

i could spit

my lover is dubious of it

every time i see bull thistle

i think of you

how you wore your hair wild

while i wondered

which shoe you kept your drugs in

the you that said on your tombstone

it would scream

i don’t want to hurt you

but i will

as i admire the dense and prickly stalks

the blazing pink heads

of the bull thistle

i smile about the you who

took a blood oath

under a willow tree

in one hot texas

hour