Idyllic, and: Avian, and: Concealment

Idyllic

We broke each other's bones in backyard warsand mined the grass with foot-sized holes.

Smashed teeth and arms, a bright concussionwon with hurtled stones and kindling swords.

We dared ourselves: higher, farther, worse—to scale the house and fly from trees.

Each dusk, our pact for indoor peace lasteduntil the hedges rose again, returned

to turret walls. Anger was only the shockof blood spreading over denim knees,

forgotten in trophies of new gauze, a spectacleof crutches. Overnight, we healed like cats.

Avian

Daylight shrinks, mayflies vanish.With enough food, geese will forget

to fly south. But not this year.We lie stiff together, a pair

of matchsticks. I start to tell youabout Arctic Terns, circumpolar

summers, but abandon the end.We are not so constant.

Outside, the passerines scrapethe air. There is a word

in German for this restlessnessbefore migration, a word

I cannot pronounce. Willing vagrant,you are not coming home again.

Concealment

I know the bridge of teeth, the liftinside one shoe, but not which toothis porcelain, or which is bone, and left

or right, I cannot tell which leg hangs too long from your unbalanced scale of hips.I annotated your body with everything

overheard or found, but encounter your facethe least, an empty entry. I have only blackand white portraits left to mildew blooms,

clean-shaven on your wedding day. Father,only the holy or shameful is kept so hidden:scrolls in velvet, ruined floor beneath rug.