Stretched to fit the Mall, this pool upholds
the sky, the purple monuments, these two
just married posing at its rim. I climb

You’ve seen my tibia and fibula?
I used to take my friends to visit them
each year at the museum, septic and safe,

Never had a loaded, blue-black handgun
in my house, except for 1981,

Night is when I give you new clothes.

No talking in the grass, only persistent scars
where cheek lay to hear
a sound: the distilled conversation

Harsh orange, dull burn
of realization.

That the wound had never been
its vast geography, red terrain forming

Trees have fallen every which
way, crossing themselves

They call me that because of how I sew,
quick as mercury still, at my age;

do you like my pony tail
I got it off a real pony who died