this is my grievance: that flowers don’t die
fast enough. i had a dream of the cat i had
before the breakup. she had grown, somehow.
her paws and head made her a new cat and i was a gourd
broken-born against the rocks. an ulcer glows
slowly, like amber in this house. all the beams are weighed
by seasons. all the world is quiet in the snow
and seeds that don’t grow are eventually moved over.
brown boxes and skin. everything is lightening
and floating off and away. like a chia pet,
this is the eden god made; without half-trying
i kill the good things. christmas, once, was easy.
a tree can be barren on the inside, green.