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.
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