After Donika Kelly

All the dictionary                           is erased—          palimpset
pulpy                                                                                                      remembering
You are not a title page
not the index          of your             skin            you are the falling autumn
already buried by the snow.
You are given creases, given                                       ears— dogs ears                                     your
ears                                                                                                    —ungiven
there is no rustling to hear
you are the dead shedding of a sunburn.
become
blank                                                                                                                                                                                        un-
annotated.
what             turning                                            what                       soft lamplight
what cashmere fingers                                                                    taking the lashes from your eyes.

There is a you at the cover of this

a you tearing the corners with                                                        hands sappy    from making love to the forest.
a binding down your spine              the tying up          the glue     sap               again       the juniper taste of
rope.                                                     Neither today
nor tomorrow                                                          one day a long day from now you are
on a shelf                                                                      and there are many moths
chewing holes
in the untouched or                                      retouched paper of
your
stomach.