Emma and I drunk took a bath swimming as a sloppy fish
on another night that we’d never recall in full detail. Wildness overgrown
enters the spine turns it from flour to bone. The photographs
of how she and I moleculed one another lost. I dive lakes covering the entire
mountain afraid water will dissipate. Another man means another bed
means: they see me but don’t see into me, the jaw bone of confessions
waiting for cloud-blue apparitions. Handing over my fragile objects
to anyone who will take them, air tastes of spit, walnuts and tobacco barns:
my ribs exposed and far-reaching over the hood of my car, a man on my back.
We are swimming. We are swimming. Nothing stops me.
