B48, and: B23, and: B11

B48

You will hide, try
point to your forehead
almost remember where the mourners

put the dirt back
so even you won't know the difference
– you need more dirt :a sky

with one cloud then another
filled with stones and gasping for air
so you will think it's the grasses

that have forgotten where to go
have nothing left to do
the way funerals still come by

as if rain no longer mattered at night
and the kiss someone once gave you
– you won't eat anymore :the breeze

will step back, go slack, cover you
though there's not enough room
with distances and longing.

B23

Already weightless these steps
don't need the morning
back away as that emptiness

stars are used to
– you can hear them narrowing
creaking and from behind

wait for the sun to open fire
flash past your forehead
though you can't make out

the week or year or the cloud
that knows you're there
comes for you between more rain

and mountainside still standing
no longer growing grass
can't love or remember

– you hide the way this attic
opens inside a door
that is not a flower

– an iron knob
that turns away nothing
and in your arms nothing, nothing.

B11

You mourn the way this sand
has no strength, keeps warm
between one day and another

and your closed hands
that need the place
left by a small stone

dropping slowly in water
though what rests here
is the emptiness already mist

and nothing starts again
– you dig as if this beach
blossoms once your fingers

open and these dead
lose their way among the flowers
that no longer come home

– you kneel easily now
pulled down by your shadow
following head first as rain

heavier and heavier
tracing a face with just your lips
and worn out nod.