of my own died. I
did not die. My
love did not. Is intact. I
checked. Beloveds

were not dragged

into the net of
the eye of
the drone, were not dis-
membered into

instant ancestors –
not even memories, too
fast, too torn, no. Screams. We
woke. The sun

came first in
veins of red then rips,
pinks, then rose as
usual. We

didn’t look up, ate
fast, were late, the day filled
up, we asked
all our

questions – what
questions were
those – I heard a
cardinal, it’s

Spring – so

suddenly – soon
it was evening
again. The lights came
on. No oblivion

was visible

to us, no one
lay waiting to be buried
under the vast
sound then the unending

weight which imitates
perfectly – where suddenly
we’re down in

the burning
mounds the slippery
pits – how did our room
disappear – & is that a

cry under there, is that a hand

opening and
shutting – a piece of
skin – is that a
shin is that a

nape showing thru
this dust we cannot reach
into, can’t push
away, this covering

which cannot be
uncovered ever
again. They take away our hands they
make us lie down. Where

are my things, the
things I loved. It’s
Spring, I think. I must be
alive. I check the

bulbs. I touch the
green. No arm is being
amputated from
my only ones, no rib-

cage crushed
before it can call out a
name, no body loved beyond
measure growing

limp here – wake

up, wake, let me feed you, here’s yr
milk, here’s yr
song, I’ll whisper it
into yr ear – where is yr

ear – open yr
eyes, where are yr eyes, why
are your fingers
not, why will your eyelids

not – I push them
back, they will not
stay – don’t bend that way

you’ll hurt yourself,

no you can’t

hurt yourself, you are all
gone all
who ran in the

light with me to
the beach last
Saturday … Shall we venture out
I ask – at bedtime

now – tomorrow, &
my sleepy ones say
maybe, if it is fine,
and I say yes, of

course, if it is fine.

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