Reverse Invocation
To the god of thresholds: for is it not
tradition to call upon a deity
with a voice crackling like the lull
of aged leaves, of a petal shifted
by wind. To the goddess with many
faces: that of mouths on all sides,
of broken teeth: for is each being
not a fate unbounded, un-
plucked, not earthly possession: nectar
rushing between stones, un-
stripping of trees gnarled bare,
wrought skeleton. To the god of love
and the goddess of fury, for
are they not bound
by the same body: what
have you taken
that can not be made
whole again?
Untitled
A city darkening,
uncentered. We skid
to the shoulder, cars
kinetic under frost
beams. This is where
you tell me
you found love letters
in my bedroom
and you do not want me
like this. To our right: a heron
balanced on the barricade,
slumped so dull
I mistake it for a shadow.
Our left: a river that never
stops unfolding.
It has no mouth,
no current, no water.
Just stones.
