the distance which lies between the branches

the distance which lies between the branches

with furrows on my face

I've put on my mourning apron.

there is an empty bench

where I sit and die a little

in front of the house.

people walk by.

I don't explain anything to you.

a different death

in the middle of the street.

…

I leaf through the obituaries

and the clouds

you look at me with fear,

(my heart starts to slide down

the gentle slope of your black hair.)

…

it rained because I needed it to rain,

and because you wanted

you gaze at me through the mirror.

night came because I wanted it to come.

and I looked into your eyes,

and I kissed your childlike hands,

and prepared your clothes, remember?

but you were afraid.

a sullen and grim fear.

a fear of watches.

remember, it’s all true.

…

I've not given up on either love or wound.

…

we never measure the distance

which lies between the branches of the blooming dragon tree

or remove dirt,

or irrigate the cornfields,

or paint windows,

or collect water in transparent buckets.

the cold never fills the well

with green blackberry.

your mouth never

leaves the taste of almonds

on my lips.