There Is No Word For

The Stars Are Pears That No One Can Reach, Even For A Wedding. Perhaps For A Death.

Pulling Off The Fat Diamond Engagement Ring, Pulling Off The Elopement Wedding Ring, And Holding Them, Clicking Them In Thumb And Forefinger, The Indent Of Twenty-five Years, Like A Tiny Rip Leaving Its Mark.

There Is Joy In All: In The Hair I Brush Each Morning, In The Cannon Towel, Newly Washed, That I Rub My Body With Each Morning.

Our Eyes Are Full Of Terrible Confessions.

It Is June. I Am Tired Of Being Brave.