than my house            my hilltop

the crest on the mantel calling            for veins

When I fork this light two bodies

             blend into the face you held

Jumbled letters            glisten on the backs

of flowers

In the frozen garden I feel

fetching            how I met you            how sleep

             mists our daily envies

so the ovals upturn & open

* * *

Small breaths penny            the floor

into soft nooks & wetness

             descends down the chimney

When I take my gloves

off the water is            wetter

             tastes like the day I learned

to run with a basket of sheets

* * *

Don’t back away from

the face’s missing fingers            I’ll be at the altar

of your sleepcoat            an emaciated tree

with my offer of nametags

             & a broken dinner plate

I’ve never moved slower

No oily necklace            no bicycle seats offer

             to cut the sheet into smaller sections

* * *

I could saw the trees into a bed

             to angle your sleep

But you would still be sleeping

             Yelps from the chimney

are the victors