And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, "My need is more desperate!" and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.

I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.

Rats live on no evil star

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives

Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside

The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up.