JOSHUA MARIE WILKINSON

A SAINT AMONG THE STRAGGLERS’ BEDS (PART 2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

sound of the water as it
cuts through

black tea
& our flooring is made to level
only so much physical mapping

the train steadies green weather against it
the darkness isn’t as deep

as it looks in the photographs
but it is way too much

then buffalo moth nets torn

shore breakers fog sluice 
a way to forest down the blood
without dressing under the saint
among the stragglers’ beds

 

 

*

 

we listen to the blood
in our wrists as if it were birds in there

we follow each other’s eyes
without turning around

had known the
sentinels by the color of their horrible hands
& the mail carriers

from their teeth clicks

you may mistake
the curtains for a wall
only once in the worst light

 

 

*

 

keys
fastened to our

heels quick
oars & a slow lighthouse

twine better
than dogs & dogs
better than accomplices

rickety carousel & cement truck shadows
from the gone books

birds
lead you to water

coins
for coffee or pie

& more coffee later

one cigarette &

corridor in its smock of

don’t come all the way in

 

 

*

 

umbrella & another to
patch up the storm around us
as you go

just why don’t you pick up a phone

from underground

did this help you to
lose you

to what the woods are

in the news about