I returned home to pluck the eyes from the watchmen
who for so long stood guard over me.
But now just muslin and orange rind clinging together
like old mouths all stuck with sleep.
Once bottles hunched like vultures around our beds in the evenings
hoping for a glimpse of soft, ruined thighs
but they have all flown now my darling, my sweet one,
oh my sister, my sister, mine.
And since you moved away
your room has become a wild terrain
where the cats are lonely scab-eared kings that reign
over the loomy dolls and spiders eggs.
Phoebe, there are still giants that nest in the halls.
Their treacherous flesh swelling cracks in the walls.
They thumb through our old journals and pace the dark lanes
that stretch out their heavy green arms.
And there were some things here that I meant to do
like bear my teeth to the winter that had hold of you,
but the roads rose in coils and my impatience grew.
I scraped the cold mud from my shoes.
But today we rode the train down the coast
and we were twin asteroids formed from that red sandstone
and we hurtled joyful into all that unknown
with our love and our fledgeling bones.
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