His Red Ribs, Glittering

Now that it’s over, let it move
through me like water.

Outside the birds keep flight
toward each the other,

a boy falls and his blood
brightens the snow.

The year begins and I can’t tell
how the days hold together.

Can’t tell your hair—on the bed,
in my mouth—from my own.

Copyright the author(s) ©2007–2014