Piety shrouds the clothesline

All those dresses, socks, the future

on the line

           like the sun

           hangs the summer cloud

there you were, I think

just at the kitchen table

in that shirt   There

like a tattoo,   what you do

to your body   full of wine, protein

salt. You’re open still like the window you stand at

sharp, sad suddenly

a young, honed knife

your mother, out in the road waits for the called gun

for the bleeding deer

lanced, the yolk

spills like you both

would, should your lives end

or should you nurture

the desire to share it. Metals, embryos

the babydoll mug is thimble-filled

with imaginary liquid. This story comes to me

without weight, no burden

Later it’s a heatwave, all over

eulogized, the morning summoned