Mouth
dark sea cave
where the tongue rounds,
thrusts quick to the edge
then back again.
A long time I stare
there, like falling
into night if night
were a tide pool.
All that energy in your tongue
darting code I can’t read.
Left arm bent,
an involuntary lifting
(back of your hand to your face
to ward off—what?)
how it looks like a broken wing.
Your skin slackening,
your face, the bony skull
of anatomy books,
small burls of your knees,
hip bones, two beaks pushing upward
as if the skeleton could rise
through diminishing muscle and flesh—
strange bird about to be born
I want every last minute
fiercely as the toddler who screamed
and refused to relinquish your hand.
You’ll wait till I’ve gone.
